Lazarus coughs. “Her blood must be purged from his system.”
“I’m not talking to you, Lazarus,” I say softly, looking at Phantom.
The scribe jumps when he sees the fox standing behind him, his hands flying to his chest although I’m sure it’s been centuries since a heart beat there.
“What is that?” he hisses.
I’m not sure how to describe Phantom except to say, “He’s my familiar.”
“Then you’re a witch?” Lazarus whispers. “You don’t smell like a witch.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not a witch.”
“But—”
I hold up a finger to Lazarus as Phantom answers my question. “They say that if I feed Damien my blood, it will break her spell on him.” I raise my eyes to the old man who is gaping at the fox. “When he was held by the candle, I used fire, but that was a cursed object, and this time it’s his blood that’s cursed.”
He tucks his chin, looking positively aghast. “You broke the Gowdies’ spell on him?”
I nod.
His face lights up as if he’s just discovered the answer to an alchemical equation. “You are the bearer of the sigil. You are the key, forged of dragon’s blood.”
How does he know about my sigil? Damien must have told him, which means Damien trusts him. I turn my back to Lazarus and lower the robe to show him my tattoo. Behind me, I hear him inhale sharply at the sight.
“Centuries I’ve lived, and after all this time to be surprised, to find something new.” His voice is breathy and filled with awe.
I straighten the robe, making sure everything is covered before I turn back around. “You might as well know I’ve come to challenge Valeska for Damien. Provocationem Ad Mortem.”
His jaw slackens. “Oh dear, that is old law. I’d forgotten it existed until now. No one has invoked the challenge in centuries. How on earth did you ever learn of it?”
I swallow. “A friend of a friend.” Mentioning Sabrina doesn’t seem like a good idea. Not when she’s the one who inspired the plan that brought me here.
His gnarled fingers lift to his lips. “We will need to find the box. We must take care to understand the rules before she does. Knowledge is far more powerful than might in these situations.”
I interrupt him before he can say anything more. “You have to take me to Damien right away, Lazarus. I’m sure what you’re saying is important, but our first priority has to be breaking the blood bond. If he takes my blood and breaks her bond, we can leave here without me challenging her at all. All you have to do is take me to him when he’s alone.”
The ancient scribe toys with the neck of his robe, silent for a moment. He nods to himself as if setting his mind to something. “I know just what to do.”
30
The Palace
DAMIEN
My meal is late. Has Valeska decided she will no longer feed me? Or has she gone to retrieve Eloise now that she’s forced me to give up her identity? There is no end to the woman’s cruelty. I would not put it beyond her to not only make me kill my mate but then roast her and feed her to me.
I retch at the thought and then make a decision, one I should have made days ago. When my meal is delivered, I will use the knife that often accompanies the meat. I will take the blade, wait until Valeska’s order not to hurt myself wears off, and slit my own throat. It will be difficult to kill myself in this state. Almost impossible without sunlight. But I must try.
I will kill myself before I can be forced to kill Eloise.
Nothing can save my mate now. Valeska will have her by the time the sun rises. But if I am dead, we will meet again in the Darklands. We will be together in the next life. The thought makes me smile. The vampire queen has taken everything from me, but she can’t take this.
Perched on the edge of the bed, I meditate, preparing myself for what I have to do. When the click of the key turning in the lock meets my ears, I stand, relieved when I see it’s not Lazarus wheeling the cart. My friend would likely try to talk me out of what I plan to do. But this scribe is slight, almost womanly under the robes. I wonder if the vampire is new. It’s odd for a scribe to serve meals, unless of course Lazarus sent them.
I spot the knife next to the domed tray. “You can go,” I tell the scribe.
“I’d rather stay.” The voice from beneath the hood is one I never thought I’d hear again. Delicate hands reach up and draw the cloth back from her face. I stumble backward.
