Hearts At Stake

chapter 27

Lucy

We whirled, recognizing the voice. Liam stood in a white cloud, wearing silver nose plugs. He pointed to three guards rushing at him with axes.

“Sleep.”

They crumpled, axes clattering to the ground.

Hypnos.

“You,” Lady Natasha sneered. “You’re too late. Your precious daughter has nearly slipped away completely. My throne is safe, this kingdom is safe.”

“Let’s see, shall we?” Helena asked, her swords flashing, her black braid hanging neatly down her back. Her sons flooded in behind them, joined by Hart and his agents. I’d never seen so many nose plugs and so much black army gear in my whole life.

The waltzing courtiers turned to a more violent dance. The music was drowned out by the sounds of swords clashing. The tribes chose their sides, and the Drakes and Helios weren’t nearly as outnumbered as I’d feared. The Araksaka convened around Lady Natasha— all but Conan. I did what he’d suggested earlier, and I stayed down. In fact, I crawled on my hands and knees through broken crockery toward the bier. The ravens stayed by Solange, cawing viciously. When one bent his head, about to poke into her eye, I picked up a crystal shard and whipped it at him. He squawked and flew off, offended, in a flurry of feathers. I wished I had my crossbow.

Helena was tumbling like some deranged acrobat, flinging knives and stakes as she went. She left a trail of dust and ash behind her. Helios agents scattered like beetles, blowing Hypnos to clear the vampires out of their way. It was like Sleeping Beauty’s castle—ladies in fine dresses and gentlemen in complicated cravats all dropping to the Persian rugs, asleep. Crystal vases tumbled off tables; wooden chairs splintered under impact.

Hart’s agents ignored Natasha’s courtiers once they fell, preferring to attack Hope’s rogue unit. Blood splattered the stones, stained the tapestries.

Liam strode toward the bier, his grim eyes never leaving his fading daughter. He took out three vampires without moving his glance away even once. One of Hope’s men flew backward after a vicious punch, face bruising before he even hit the wall.

Nicholas rolled toward me, landing at my elbow. His eyes were fierce. He grabbed my chin and kissed me hard. It was over before I had time to react.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

“Duh,” I shot back, and returned the kiss, just as quick and just as hard before he dove away to gather stakes from a sleeping guard. He rose from a crouch and threw them like deadly confetti. They all moved so fast, it was like a watercolor painting, all blurs and smears. A woman dressed in red silk bared her fangs and hurled a sleek jet stake. Logan caught it before it imbedded itself in Nicholas’s chest.

“Shame to ruin such a nice jacket,” he said.

“Took your time getting here,” Nicholas returned with a grin, whirling to meet the next advance. They fought back to back like a spinning top of fury.

Helena reached Lady Natasha with a feral grin. Lady Natasha lifted her chin haughtily but stepped behind one of her guards. Helena slashed at his raven tattoos relentlessly until it was just her and the queen. Their swords met, clashing like ice cracking in the sea.

Hart followed Hope down the tunnel when she made a dash for safety. The rest of the battle went on, both impossibly quick and dragging on forever.

I kept crawling around the bodies, ducking flying boots and weapons. I had to get to Solange. I reached the bier with only shallow scrapes and a bruise from the elbow of a clumsy Helios-Ra agent. I swatted at the ravens until they flew off, landing on nearby furniture and eyeing me malevolently. Solange was cold, so cold I snatched my fingers back. Her eyelids and fingertips were the same purple as her lips. She made strange wheezing sounds, as if she was trying to breathe but couldn’t. Her mouth opened and closed, like a baby bird starving for its first meal.

And I had nothing to give her.

Which wasn’t even our biggest problem.

“Natasha, darling, you always did know how to throw a proper party.”

The fighting stopped. It was as if someone pressed a cosmic pause button. Everyone turned to stare at the vampire now standing just inside the cave, surrounded by warriors in brown leather tunics. He was smirking, his pale face striking under long black hair. I’d have thought he’d used Hypnos with the way people were reacting. He walked slowly forward, as if he had all the time in the world. His guard kept pace.

“Montmartre,” Lady Natasha murmured, satisfied. “I knew you’d come.”

Leander Montmartre and his Host. Lady Natasha was the only one who was pleased with this new development. She actually shook Helena off to smooth her hair back into place. The mirrors reflected her smug, chilling smile.

“Yes, darling, but you’re looking a little haggard.” His gray eyes tracked Solange’s fitful breathing, her bruised-looking lips. “I’ve come for her, actually.”

The smile turned to a snarl. “No.”

“Of course.” He sniffed the air as if it were laced with perfume. “No one else will do, surely you know that.”

“She’s a child. You love me.”

“Love.” He flicked a surprisingly smooth manicured hand. I would have expected it to have long nails crusted with blood, that’s how menacing his aura was. “Don’t be banal.”

“You’ve let yourself be swayed by talk of prophecies and legacies. But I’ll change that, you’ll see. She’s nearly dead.”

“I’ll have her, Natasha,” he said coldly.

“You’ll die first,” she shot back. “Araksaka!”

At Natasha’s command her tattooed guard swarmed forward to attack. She threw a white thorn stake, fangs gleaming. Montmartre’s Host bared their own teeth and leaped into the fray. The snarling and growling made the hair on my arms stand up. Vampires turned to ash all around Montmartre, as if he was standing in a dusty field on a windy day.

“A moment, if you please,” he interrupted.

Again, the fighting stopped.

“There’s no need to thin our numbers this way,” he said pleasantly. “All I want is the girl.”

“Stay the hell away from my daughter.” Helena seethed. She flung her own stake, but one of the Hounds intercepted it before it could hit its mark.

“Your daughter needs me,” Montmartre told her. “So you’d best mind your manners when you speak to me.” He held up a chain with a glass vial encrusted with silver ivy leaves. “My Host were tracking in the woods and came across this most curious artifact.” Every single one of Solange’s brothers hissed. “I am assured this was once filled with Veronique’s blood, for Solange here. There are only a few drops left, but it should be enough. It rather looks as if she needs it.”

Solange was barely breathing, and she was so pale the blue of her veins made her look nearly violet.

She was dying.

Or about to turn into a Hel-Blar.

I wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Hang on,” I whispered. “Please, please hang on.”

“I am prepared to let her have this,” Montmartre continued, swinging the chain. The Drakes watched it, as if he were a hypnotist. “But I am going to need something in return.”

“What is it you want?” Liam asked, standing close to Helena, his hand on her arm. She was straining not to explode.

“Why, I want the queen, of course.”

“I’m the queen,” Lady Natasha barked. Montmartre ignored her, which enraged her further. The whites of her eyes were slowly going red.

“You give me Solange, and I will give her life.”

“No way,” I croaked, though no one paid any attention to me.

Liam suddenly looked old, as if all of his years were hitting him at once. He nodded his head once.

“Dad, no!” Quinn advanced.

“She’ll die,” Liam said. “She doesn’t have any time left. We have no options.”

Montmartre gave a courtly bow and strode toward the bier, his Host at his side. Liam was jostled, trying to hold back his family.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

I felt sick. Montmartre leaned down and picked Solange’s unresponsive body up into his arms.

“No,” Liam said furiously. “Now. You give it to her now where we can see.”

“I don’t recall offering that,” he said. Solange looked so tiny against his chest.

“Now.”

“Montmartre,” a new voice interrupted, sounding young but hard. “Weren’t you going to invite us to the wedding?”

The girl looked about my age, but she was a vampire, so she could have been a hundred years old for all I knew. She had long black hair and wore a leather tunic and bone beads in her hair. There were tattoos on her hands and arms.

Cwn Mamau. The Hounds.

The Host snarled. The girl and her warriors snarled back. These were the vampires Montmartre had turned and who had then turned against him. The Host hated the Hounds on sight. Montmartre didn’t look too pleased either. And for the first time, he looked faintly disconcerted.

“Isabeau. Go home, little girl.”

“The Hounds do not support your claim to the throne,” she told him very precisely, her accent French. She nodded a greeting to Liam and Helena. “I apologize for the delay.” She turned back to Montmartre. “We will not be ruled by you.”

“It hardly matters what you savage whelps want,” he said, but his demeanor had changed. Even I could see it. He wasn’t quite as confident. Fury and something else I couldn’t read colored his movements. He flicked a glance at his Host. “Take her.”

Another battle. The Hounds and the Host were evenly matched.

Which was all fine and good except that Solange didn’t have this kind of time.

Blood splattered the floor along with the ashes. It was so fast and so feral, I had a hard time keeping track of what was going on. I did see Nicholas creeping forward, staying low. Then he disappeared into a blur and Montmartre’s feet went out from under him. Solange tumbled from his grasp, landing half sprawled against the bier.

A Hound smashed his fist into Nicholas’s face, then flipped him over two more Host fighting a Hound. He hurtled into a table and then lay still. I cried out.

“Human!” the Hound girl shouted before plucking the vial from the floor and throwing it. It flew toward me, its silver chain catching the light from the candles.

A hand caught it in midair.

Not my hand.

“Are you kidding me?” I screeched. It was Juliana, Natasha’s bored sister, who’d flitted around us when we were first captured. She waggled the vial at me. I wanted to claw her eyes right out of her head. I launched myself at her. What I lacked in finesse I made up for with angry flailing and a stubborn need for vengeance. I was not going to lose Solange. Not again and not when her cure was so close.

I was no match for Juliana unfortunately. That was clear after the first punch to my face. The second I ducked, but I wasn’t quick enough to avoid the third one, to my stomach. I staggered, nauseous and breathless. The vial swung tauntingly in front of me. I grabbed for it and missed.

And then Kieran was suddenly there, swinging with his good arm. The vial dropped next to his boot. Juliana reached for it and I kicked her hard, right in the throat. She swung up snarling, fangs extended. Kieran was closer to the vial and couldn’t fight her off with his broken arm.

“Go,” I yelled at him. “Go, go, go.”

He grabbed the vial and skidded to Solange’s side just as I crashed into a delicate chair that had the good grace to break apart on impact. One of the legs, painted with pink rosebuds, broke off. At least I had a weapon now.

“I’m going to kill you, little girl!” Juliana yelled.

The chair leg didn’t quite pierce her heart, but it was near enough to make her freeze, gasp, and clutch at her chest.

“Lucy!” The stake Nicholas tossed at me finished her off. Ash drifted at my feet, like mist. My first vampire kill. When I got home, I’d have to recite countless malas to appease my mother. And my churning stomach. But not right now; right now I could indulge in a moment of triumph. But only a moment.

Because it was just one of those days.

I hung over the back of a bench, trying to convince my severely bruised diaphragm that standing up really was a necessity. Kieran leaned over Solange, tipping the contents of the silver vial between her lips. Those precious drops ran down into her throat. Still, she didn’t look particularly healed.

“Nicholas,” I croaked. “It’s not working.”

He ducked a dagger with a rusted handle. “It stopped the sickness, but now she needs to feed.” He threw an entire stool at an approaching Araksaka guard. “She needs human blood—it’s better for the first time.”

I was trying to drag myself over to the bier, but Kieran was already slicing a shallow cut across his forearm. He held it to Solange’s mouth, urging her to drink, whispering.

“Drink,” he begged her. “I can’t lose you now, not after all this. Drink, damn it.” For some reason, the way he spoke to her, gently and desperately, had tears burning on my cheeks.

Lady Natasha howled, her long pale hair flying behind her like a banner. Her dress was stained with blood. Several of the carved ravens on her throne had broken off. “Montmartre! You love me,” she howled, even as she tried to fight off Helena.

Montmartre’s Host weren’t exactly losing the fight with the Hounds, but they weren’t winning it either. Hunters, vampire rogues, half the royal court under Conan’s direction, and the Drake family all stood against them. Montmartre cursed.

“Fall back,” he ordered. The Host retreated instantly to form a circle around him. “She will be my queen,” Montmartre promised before flicking his hand. The Host pressed against him and they retreated down one of the tunnels.

Lady Natasha, abandoned on all sides, turned her anger to Helena. Helena twirled a stake until she found a proper grip. The fight stretched on, two determined women with a penchant for ancient weaponry. It was a beautiful dance, in its way, flashing blades and flips through the air. But in the end, Helena’s stake flew true. Lady Natasha blinked uncomprehendingly and then her empty dress fell in a delicate heap of fine silk, dusted with ash.

The noise and fury in the hall stopped so suddenly, it practically echoed. Even the Araksaka paused.

Each to a one, the vampires dropped to one knee in front of Helena.

In lieu of rightful succession, killing the present monarch granted you the crown.

Nicholas limped up beside me and held on to my hand tightly. I squeezed his fingers, stepping back so that our sides were pressed together, feeling better with his cool skin against mine. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t have to.

On the glass bier, Solange finally gasped once, then swallowed hungrily. When she opened her eyes and saw dozens of kneeling vampires in their best court finery, she groaned weakly, blood smeared on her lips.

“Oh God, I’m not a vampire queen, am I?”