Mark of Betrayal (24 page)

“
Darkness,” his double said. “As if the path does not exist, or perhaps has no determination.”

“
What, like a plan-your-own-future story?”

“
Perhaps, or perhaps a decision must be made before the door opens.”

I nodded to myself. “So, you said there were two paths? What was the other one?”

Another old man stood, tucking his long beard to his chest as he bowed to me. “A curse, Majesty. If you choose the wrong path, a Darkness will rebirth the curse on these lands. We have seen it—seen death, destruction.”

“
So, how can we stop that from happening? Did you get any clues?”

“
One.”

I waited.

“
Love must offer life.”

“
Life?”

“
Yes. Nhym, in the old language,” said the man in the grey cloak.

“
Well, how do we do that? Is it, like, I offer my life in service, or sacrifice myself on the Stone? What do we do?”

“
The door to any path reveals itself as you walk, Princess.” The man standing sat back down. “When the time comes, you will know.”

“
And what—in the meantime, I get some freaky power from Mother Nature by making an oath on some stone?”

“
That is not just
some stone
,” Grey Sideburns said. “It is connected deeply to your roots—to Vampirie’s mother, Lilith—your ancestor. Do not have such little respect.”

The idea that facts surrounded her story made me feel connected—made me feel a part of myth and legend, as if I knew Lilith once. “So she was real? Lilith?”

“
No one has proved she either existed or that she didn't. So, until they do, we have only stories and faith,” Arthur said, raising his glass.

“
Like God.”

He smiled at me. “Precisely.”

“
Okay.” I shrugged. “Well, I’ll give it a go. Bring on this coronation and let’s see if I really do have Mother Nature’s backing, then I’ll go catch Drake myself.”

“
And do what with him?” Arthur asked.

I looked around at all the faces; they wanted me to say kill, but I wasn't going to do that unless I really had to.

“
Kill him,” Morgaine said, jamming her heel into my ankle.

“
Ouch—ur, yeah.” I sat back. “Figure out how to kill him, I guess.”

“
You’ll have a fight on your hands. You must make sure you’re strong before you do this.”

I nodded. That much, I knew. But it was like going to a party that hadn’t listed a dress code on the invitation; I had no idea what to expect. For all I knew, he could be like the Head Boss in a video game—a riddle I had to figure out on the spot, and I was sure there wouldn’t be any ‘power up’ cartridges or ‘health packs’ lying around when I reached a hundred points.

“
I disagree. From a tactical standpoint, sending an inexperienced fighter—a young girl—to catch an ancient warrior is a bad idea. I mean, this is Ara we’re talking about—” Mike presented me, looking at Eric then Morgaine. “She’s not capable of something like that.”

“
Perhaps you just need a little faith, yourself, Michael,” Arthur said. “I don't believe you know what that girl is capable of.”

“
I train with her. I taught her everything she knows. She can't even fight off a mob of human attackers yet. How’s she gonna measure up against Drake?”

“
Once she has made her oath, her powers will enrich,” the old cloak man said. “Give her a chance before you place limitations on her.”

Mike sat back. I knew he wouldn’t believe I could just become more powerful by spilling blood on some rock and making a promise; it wasn't factual enough for him. He needed something tangible, a weapon—a heavy object he could throw, not a mythical story passed down from old man to old man, translated from several different languages since its inception. And maybe he was right not to place too much faith in oracles. But, at the same time, the idea of the runes really sparked my interest. They held more worth, in my mind, than some half-ripped, hard to read prophecy Morgaine, who wasn’t even an expert, had deciphered. I wanted Arthur’s opinion on what the prophecy said. But he hadn’t mentioned it to me at all—like he was avoiding it.

“
Anyway, right now, it’s not Amara’s battle with Drake you need to prepare her for, Mike,” Morgaine said. “It’s the Walk of Faith.”

“
What's the Walk of faith?” I asked, and everyone groaned.

Mike swallowed.

“
You didn't tell her?” Morgaine looked right at him.

“
I…I was going to.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“
What is it?”

“
In order to seal your oath, you must prove your worth,” Morgaine said. “This is the right of passage Arthur mentioned.”

“
A walk is a right of passage?”

“
Yes, see, to prove you have the courage and strength to rule, you will take the path of treachery, walk darkness in isolation, to find hope and bring it back to your people.”

“
How do you
find
hope? It’s not a thing; a stick, a pebble, a—”

“
It’s a metaphor,” Morgaine said. “Basically, by doing the walk you’re finding the hope—or whatever.”

“
Oh. Okay, so I have to walk. What’s the big deal?”

“
You start it after you swear your oath—a part of the ceremony that will weaken you, both physically and spiritually,” Moustache Man said.

“
Yes, and you must leave the border of the forest before dawn.”

“
Why before dawn?”

“
Because if you don't, a; you will be trapped in there for eternity.”

I rolled my eyes.

“
And b; you will have failed your people. You will not be crowned as queen.”

“
Oh.” I looked down at my plate. “So, I just wander around the forest for the night, that’s it?”

“
It won't be that simple, my lady,” Arthur said. “It will be pitch black, you will be exhausted, burning from your markings and—”

“
There are…things in the forest,” Portly Woman interrupted. “Only myths and stories have been told of the dangers you must face and the fears you must overcome to prove your worth, but even those are enough to see brave men run.”

“
Yeah, or it’s just a forest and she draws pictures in the dirt with a stick for the night and walks up the hill as the sun starts to show,” Eric said.

“
Well—” Morgaine folded her napkin. “We’ve no way of knowing. Not one who entered that forest after making an oath ever came out—except Lilith.”

“
There were others?”

“
Yes, but they were not proved to be Lilithians.”

“
Why?”

“
There was no way of proving it.”

“
Why?” I said, sure it was becoming my new favourite word. “It’s easy enough to prove—just give them a vampire for lunch and see if he dies from the bite.”

“
And where do you propose we’d have gotten one of those?” someone else asked. “Do you think Drake would just hand one over—let us kill it? If he knew those of us who weren't imprisoned in the cells were searching for a pure blood all these centuries, he’d have had us all beheaded.”

I touched my hand to my collarbones; to the place I could only pretend I had my locket. “Okay, so, this Walk of Faith is quite possibly fatal?”

“
Possibly,” Morgaine said, issuing a stern glare down the table. “But not likely.”

“
You don't have to do this, baby.” Mike reached across and rubbed my shoulder blade.

“
Yes, I do.”

“
No. You don't. This is your life, Ara, if you don't want to—”

“
Look, Mike, disagreeable obligations don’t relieve a princess of her duties—you of
all
people would be the first to tell me that.” I looked around the table. “This changes nothing.”

Everyone looked at their dinner, except Arthur, who bowed his head to me and smiled. Mike sat back, but his face burned pink with rage and his eyes fixed to one spot on his plate.

“
I say we set a date for the coronation at the House meeting tomorrow.”

“
No. It will be discussed between the Private Council first,” Mike said.

“
It should be an event determined and agreed on by all, not just those who—”

“
That’s enough.” I stopped it before it started. “I am officially ruling that no one talks politics or battle tactics at the table for the rest of the night. I am so sick of these arguments.”

“
Here, here.” Arthur rapped his knuckles on the table and dug a fork into his dinner.

Slowly, everyone went about their meals, and quiet conversations around the table made for a very pleasant evening. Until Eric mentioned le Château de la Mort.

“
Elysium!” Arthur slammed his napkin on the table; I glanced up, shocked.

“
I'm sorry, Councilman. I meant no disrespect.” Eric looked into his plate.

“
Let it be known—” Arthur pointed at each person along the table, “—this is the last time anyone will call my home such a name.”

“
Whoa, hang on.” I frowned across at him. “Isn’t that what it’s called?”

“
No.” He took his napkin up again and flipped it into his lap. “It’s not.”

“
It’s a nickname,” Morgaine said.

“
But that’s what David always called it, too.”

“
Did he now?” Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

“
Urm…uh, maybe it wasn't him who called it that.” I didn't want to get him in trouble when he ‘came back to life.’ “So, what’s it really called?”

“
Le Château Elysium.”

“
Elysium? Is that like the gardens in the rivers of the Underworld—in Greek Mythology?”

“
Yes.” Arthur gave Eric a sideways glance. “When the castle was built by my ancestor—”

“
Your
ancestor?” I screeched, then gulped it all back in. “I mean…sorry. Continue…”

“
Yes,” Arthur said, letting out a breath through his nostrils. “The castle was commissioned by a man named John Philippe Knight—built as a home, a sanctuary—a place to end all journeys. And so, he named it after the place he believed to be the afterlife.”

“
So, why do they call it the Castle of Death?”

“
Of the Dead,” Eric corrected, becoming smaller beside Arthur.

“
Because—” Arthur turned his head slowly to look away from Eric. “Being that, in Greek Mythology, Elysium is a place the dead go and, over the centuries many deaths occurred at the castle, vampires have quite amused themselves with this heinous nickname.”

“
Yeah, but, Elysium is were the
blessed
dead go, right? Like Heaven?”

“
Precisely. It is a place of rest, a sanctuary. Not a tomb,” he said.

“
And this bothers you?” I asked. “This nickname.”

He eyed each of the faces staring back at him. “I grew up there, as a boy. It was always only a home to me. I’ll not have her name tarnished by ignorance.”

“
Okay.” I nodded. “Fine. Like Arthur said, no one calls it de la Mort again. Got it?”

Everyone on both sides of the table nodded, mumbling to themselves.

Arthur bowed his head, smiling softly. “Thank you for your support, my lady.”

“
You’re welcome.”

Petey and I laid on my bed, listening to music, while my foot tapped out the beat of all my emotions. The night outside was incredibly still, slipping past my open balcony door and resting on my brow in a mist of perspiration. It made Petey’s fur, where I lay my head on his ribs, stick to the back of my neck. “This song reminds me of her, you know—of my mum.”

As always, Petey didn’t respond, but I told him all about her anyway—all about her terrible cooking, the boyfriend who left when she fell pregnant with Harry, and the way she’d dance around the living room with me, singing into hairbrushes. It almost felt like Petey shared my loss, like he knew her too, or at least knew what it felt like to miss somebody that much.

When my playlist ended, I talked a while longer, letting midnight creep closer and closer, while the distant song of a cricket gave me a feeling of safety, knowing there were no evil vampires down in the garden, thankfully. Not even my knights. But they were right out in the corridor—guarding me from evil housekeepers and deadly dust motes.

“
I feel like a kid being punished and made to stay in her room,” I said to Petey. “I mean, I know I can leave, but I feel like Falcon’s my dad—waiting to bark at me if I come out.”

The dog’s chest shook a little, his musty kibble breath making me cringe.

I rolled over and looked into his pale blue eyes. “Did you just laugh, Petey?”

He held eye contact, his tongue hanging out, but beyond that gaze was the kind of awareness I’d always seen there—like he was an old soul. “I wonder how you became his dog, Petey—Jason’s,” I said. “And I wish I could read your mind—wish you could talk to me about him.”

Petey edged forward and licked my nose; I giggled, pushing him away by his collar.

“
I'm okay, boy. It’s just…well, I don't see him so much in my dreams now. It’s almost like I was left with a certain amount of memories, and now I've used them all up.” I thought about his sparkling green eyes, how I loved them in a different way to what I love David's—like they looked the same, but detained different truths. “It’s getting worse, you know—this…well, David just isn't who I thought he was, and I…” I couldn’t say it to Petey, because I wasn’t sure I’d figured it out in my own head yet. “Love means loving someone no matter what, right?”