He really is a dick.
‘Lucky?’ I say, through gritted teeth. ‘He was lucky only because of our blood dancers, who blocked the light to save him. Without them, he’d be dead. I doubt you’d care about them, though. They’re just humans.’
‘Actually, Emelia, you are right to question this.’ All eyes turn to my father, who pushes himself up against the cushions, his movements stiff. ‘No one should have been able to get in here tonight. The North Wind shouldn’t be able to get past our perimeters, nor should they be able to get so deep into vampire territory. And yet they do. We receive reports daily and yet, maddeningly, we cannot find the source.’
‘They are truly like the wind.’ My mother’s voice is rough. ‘Impossible to catch.’
Mistral is staring at me, his eyes lazy slits of blue. I yawn, my eyelids starting to droop. I lean on my mother, hardly able to stay awake.
‘Are you tired, dear one? I can take you to your room, if you like.’
I hear Mistral’s voice as though from a distance. My lips part and it’s that feeling again, as though I’m being drawn into a web of silk and gold. My mother’s voice cuts through the strands.
‘Bertrand will take her back later.’ Her voice is sharp. She squeezes my hand, hard, the glittering fog in my mind dissipating. What the…? Was Mistral trying tomesmeriseme?
Not all vampires can mesmerise and, for those who can, it’s not something that’s socially acceptable. It’s used on prey, so to try it on a fellow vampire or, in my case, the human child of one, is the height of rudeness. What the hell is he thinking?
There’s no chance to find out. Mistral’s attention is back to my mother once more, his lapis-blue gaze a caress. ‘Now, Penelope,’ he says, all smoothness. ‘Let us talk vengeance.’
‘Vengeance?’ My stomach twists.
‘No.’ The word falls, heavy, into the room. My father stares at Mistral, dark brows lowered over his golden eyes. ‘I will not kill breeding stock to send a message. We need to get to the root of the matter, find out who’s behind this. They came into my home, for darkness’ sake, attacked me! The fact that they were able to do so speaks to an organisation with deeper, more complex roots than mere human rebellion.’
Mistral raises his eyebrows. ‘Are you suggesting vampires are involved? A conspiracy against one of the great families? Who would dare?’
‘Again, a good question.’ My father holds Mistral’s gaze and, interestingly, it’s Mistral who breaks first. His gaze comes to rest on me, blue gold. I look away.
‘What do you mean, kill them?’ I ask. But no one answers. I feel like screaming.
‘They tried to murder you, Aleks.’ My mother’s voice is softer, but there’s steel in it. Everyone turns to her. Red is visible in her eyes. ‘Came into the seat of Raven itself. Such a crime cannot go unpunished.’ She is cold, now, like a sculpture of snow, glittering and beautiful. She’s no longer holding my hand; instead, her fists are clenched, her back straight. Raven, in all her deadly glory. ‘What if Emelia had been standing with you when the bomb went off?’ There’s silence. ‘Weshouldmake an example. Show them the power of Raven.’
‘They know about our power, beloved. It defines every moment of their existence. What use would killing a few humans be? A waste of good stock.’ My father’s voice is quieter, more reflective. He might argue with Mistral, but he’ll do anything for my mother. And she’s the true head of Raven. The decision lies with her as to what happens next.
Mistral knows it, too. He raises his hands, holding them wide. ‘I am at your service, Penelope. Give the command and I’ll do it.’
‘Do what?’ I whisper.
‘A Moon Harvest,’ says Mistral. He is like an avenging angel, all gold and fury.
‘A Moon Harvest?’ God and darkness. I’ve never heard of one happening, not since I was born. It’s an old practice, from the old world, a night of blood-soaked feasting. Sacrifices, usually drugged in a pretence of consent. Jaguar made a whole religion from it, apparently. I cannot believe my mother is even considering this.
But then I look at my father, burned and broken, and there is rage again, for what could have happened to those I love. But it’s tempered with sorrow – with the growing realisation of the many lives vampires have torn apart. It’s a strange feeling, to hold such opposing ideas and know them both to be true. I feel like I might almost understand the rebels, while at the same time wanting to destroy them all. A headache is forming, pushing against the edges of my brain. Everything feels strange, as though the room might crack open and expose me to the world, the familiar walls tumbling down, my safety an illusion.
You have no idea who you could be.
My father is looking at me. But my mother is focused on Mistral, silver moon to his golden sun in the dimly lit room. ‘Do it.’ Her tone is decisive. ‘But…’ She holds up one pale hand. ‘No children. And no one who cannot be proven to be a rebel. Twenty lives. Like the old tributes used to be.’
Twenty lives?
Mistral unfolds himself from the chair, lean and elegant, then kneels in front of my mother. She holds out her hand. He takes it, kissing her long fingers.
I feel sick. ‘But the man, the man who did it – he’s already dead.’
All heads turn to me. Mistral is frowning slightly. My father’s golden eyes are soft, softer than I remember seeing them.
‘What is it?’ he says.
‘I… just. I mean. Er…’
