Silence: Part Two of Echoes & Silence (9 page)

I looked back at the fire. “Why did you burn it—what was in that letter?”

“War,” he said after a moment, then reached forward and poured a cup of tea for me and then himself, laying the pot down gracefully after. “It would seem that the King is still missing, and in his absence Walter has assumed power and is accusing me of either harbouring you or holding you captive. Both of them acts of war.”

“But you are—harbouring me, I mean. So what’s the big deal?” I nodded to the fire. “Why did you burn that?”

“Because, my lovely guest, I am not harbouring anyone here, and I do not need suspicions raised among my faithful subjects.” He swept an upturned palm across the air. “For it is, as such, that
I
do not see a Lilithian queen here. Do you?”

My brows sat comfortably together, making lines in my face. “So… you’re just going to… deny it?”

“Precisely,” he said, and sipped his tea.

I sipped mine slowly, collecting my thoughts. So David was gone. Walt the Usurper had taken the power he always craved, and the Queen was apparently missing—presumed kidnapped. Safe to say things were not looking good for me. There was still hope that David might talk some sense into Walt when he returned, but if others now knew about Anandene there’d be little hope for my child, even if I was reinstated as Queen.

I placed my cup gently back on the china saucer, and when I looked up to find Drake’s appraising eye on me, the grandfather clock took my sudden apparent interest.

“Is it old?” I asked.

“Hm?”

“The clock.” I pointed to it. “Is it old?”

Drake turned sightly and looked at it. “Yes. Quite old. Why do you ask?”

I looked around the room for some kind of response—something to dull the awkwardness of being here with him, knowing for sure now that I genuinely needed his help. I couldn’t think of anyone else that could actually protect me—unless I jumped on a flight to Australia and stayed with Mike. “There aren’t too many conversation pieces in here,” I said. “And… to be honest, I feel slightly awkward now, realising I’ve just lost my monarchy, my friends—my freedom.”

“When you put it that way, I think a subject change is a marvellous idea; no point dwelling on what we cannot change.” He seemed to consider the space more closely then, as if for the first time. “It was Arthur’s—the clock—made some time in the early eighteen hundreds, I believe.”

I considered it more closely then. “Wow.”

“Yes, I think you will find most things in this old castle are quite ancient—many are original pieces or fixtures. I trust you will find David’s chambers rather interesting.”

“Why?”

Drake’s sharp fangs gleamed in the brilliant grey glow of a rainy day, his blue eyes flashing mischievously. “Everything he ever treasured is still in that room—still exactly where he left it after he went on his biannual leave. And I believe you will find some rather interesting things stored below his floor.”

“Are his journals in there?”

“Somewhere.” He turned his chair slightly and extended his legs toward the fire. “Although I wouldn’t recommend reading them, but perhaps sorting them by date will occupy you for the duration of your stay.”

“I never
said
I was staying.”

“And yet you’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?” he said, blue eyes catching me off guard for a moment.

I rolled my face down and searched my red flowing top for a loose thread to pick at. “How long do you think I should stay here?”

“Until the child is born.”

My head whipped up. “That’s an awfully long time, I—”

“Amara, it is no longer safe for you at the manor. By now word will have spread that you carry the witch child Anandene and that you’ve fled. Your people are not searching for you, my dear. They are hunting you.”

I cupped a hand over my belly. To be loved so widely and thoroughly by people that would turn so quickly. I could see now why Arthur so many times said that friends and enemies were not really so different. At least I could trust my enemies to stab me in the back. I expected more from my people. But though they were hunting me down—planning to kill my child—I knew Drake would do a lot worse if he discovered the truth about her.

“They’ll come looking for me.”

“They won’t find you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

One of his dark black eyebrows moved up on his head. “My cloaking spell.”

“It’s still in place?”

“Not the one I used earlier, but a similar one. And only under the confines of this castle.” He motioned around the room. “If anyone comes here with the intention of seeking you out, you will remain on a separate… plane, you might say. They will not see you or hear you—at all.”

Shit. That just complicated things. “But… what about when I’m
not
in the confines of the castle?”

“Provided you’re within the bounds of the four quadrants, and the courtyard between them, you are safe. But I cannot protect you outside of that.”

I nodded to say I understood—understood that if I made it to the forest I could be seen. Just in case I needed to flee. “Safe? Or held prisoner?”

His fingertips stopped dead by a piece of cake, reeling back as clear and obvious insult moved his eyes up to meet mine. “If I meant to imprison you, you would be locked in the dungeons—which is no place for a woman in your condition.”

My shoulders sunk. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“A trust issue,” he stated, picking up that piece of cake. “I understand.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You are forgiven, my dear. Now eat.” He moved the selection plate of sweets toward me. “I can hear your stomach crying out.”

***

If these old stone walls could talk they’d whisper tales of death and of fear so intense that the spirits of those that died here remained to this day, leaving behind a ghostly chill in the stale air.

For as many castles as I’d seen in my short life, nothing stood out about this one at all—nothing distinguished it as a vampire nest or, more politely, Set Residence.

In the residential wing of the castle, rusty old sconces held light to the cold darkness, giving only enough of a glow to see the ground immediately in front, concealing scary things in the shadows along the walls. But it wasn’t entirely awful here; these were just the tight hallways of a very old castle, the way one might imagine it should be. I could feel death here but also history. And vampires—many of them—lingering behind the closed doors doing who-knows-what. And as we neared the middle of the infinitely long corridor, my skin tingled as I picked up the weak, faded hint of a familiar scent.

“Here we are.” Drake stopped by a door the same shape and size as every other and drew a rather gaudy iron keyring from the folds of his cloak. He twisted each key around as if counting them, then slipped one off the ring through the small gap and handed it to me. “Be my guest.”

The rough, rusty metal was thin but also heavy for a key no bigger than my palm. I tried to imagine David with this dangling from the keychain he kept his car keys on. “You couldn’t have modernised the locks around here?” I asked, holding it up.

Drake cleared his throat and leaned closer. “I believe the saying goes: why fix what ain’t broke.”

“Just because it still works doesn’t mean it can’t be replaced for something more functional. God—” I shook my head, jamming the ‘steel rod’ into the lock, “—you and Dad are so much alike.”

Drake’s charming laughter filled the air, drowning out the eerie howl of ancient draughts.

He pushed the heavy door open for me then, and a long creak voiced its enthusiasm, a swirl of dust and stale air awaiting us in the space beyond—a not-so-warm welcoming party.

I coughed, covering my nose with one hand, waving the other about.

“Let me just get this aired out for you.” Drake moved across the room, threw the heavy velvet curtains aside, disappearing in a new cloud of dust, and pushed the windows outward. “If I’d known you were coming I would have cleaned up a bit. But I shall send up a maid to tend the sheets and the dust.”

“I’d appreciate that,” I said, saying no more then as I woke to the realisation that this was David’s room—all his secrets and his entire past tucked neatly and now openly into one space. A sweep with the eye revealed brown and grey cobblestones in cream mortar beneath exposed oak beams, where an iron chandelier hung low from the centre, kind of like an old Medieval tavern. I could feel a draught slipping up between the planks in the wood floor, too, as if the space below was empty.

“Was this his room since he first moved here—to the castle?” I asked.

“No. Only since he became a Council member.”

I imagined David standing there on the Persian rug, carelessly dumping the scattered newspapers onto that small coffee table, then, worn from a day of Court, shifting the weighty but worn curtains aside on the clunky dark-wood bed and climbing up to dream about a better life. Although, the large stone fireplace across from it told of other things he may have dreamed about; two winged-back chairs sat facing the ashes and soot as though a conversation had died there a long time ago, and I realised he probably never lit that fire because his mind was not on human matters like cuddling up by golden warmth or finding his true love—he was the darker version of himself here, the version I had only met a few times.

“There is a bathroom.” Drake offered the door beside the window. “It is old, but functional.”

“Great,” I said sarcastically. ‘Old but functional’ was usually ‘real estate’ speak for dingy and rusty.

“Will the room be satisfactory for your stay?” Drake asked.

As I took a small turn on the spot I noticed a canvas above a tall chest of drawers that undoubtedly was the work of Jason. “It’s been years.” I nodded, my eyes wide and slightly out of focus. “And it still smells like he was
just
here.”

“Which is why we often use garlic to mask our scent,” Drake offered. “Like vampire blood, our scent lingers for quite some time after we’re gone.” There was a hollow, almost lonely tone to the end of that sentence, as if he implied
death
not absence.

And rather than mention Morgana or any other loved ones we’d lost, I marched a few steps over to the bed and laid both hands on the firm, dusty mattress. “Is this an original piece?”

“It is,” Drake said, tapping his toe against the leg of the bed. “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

I considered the height of it against the shortness of me; the mattress reaching the base of my ribs. No different to any other ancient bed, except for the fact that there didn’t appear to be a step. “How will I get into it?”

“There’s a box just under the side there.” He pointed to my feet. “Or you could, perhaps, use the bench at the end here.”

I looked to the foot of the bed at the wooden seat, thick with an inch of white dust and a piece of clothing all scrunched up and left behind. David’s clothing. I made a mental note to shake it out later and sniff it to see if he’d worn it. If he had, I’d be sleeping in it tonight.

“You said there were journals?” I hinted.

“Yes.” He shifted the corner of the Persian rug and revealed the edge of a trapdoor. “Be careful going down there though. It’s dark and the stairs are old and decayed.”

I nodded, considering that. “I will.”

“And… be prepared.”

“For?”

“David is a vampire, Amara,” he explained in a bit of a condescending tone. “He has killed—in this room, which was against the law I might add. So there may be… evidence stored down there.”

I cringed at the thought—on so many levels. “Okay. I’ll try not to scream.”

He laughed loudly. “No need for that. The rules have changed here since you took the throne. We no longer stand on ceremony—” He spread his arms out wide, his voice bold and commanding, like an actor on a stage, “—we kill, in these rooms, without consequence, and we care not for discretion. We are after all vampires, and the consequences of unruly vampires destroying the population no longer falls on my shoulders.” He bowed his head, pushing an upturned palm in my direction. “It falls on yours.”

I scoffed, so insulted my head bopped a little. “So you just let them run wild because it’s not your problem?”

“Precisely,” he said, planting his hands behind his back.

I folded my arms, trying not to let it get to me—or at least not to show it. “Well, can you please bring me some headphones then? I really don’t want to be sung to sleep by dying humans every night.”

As he walked past me toward the door, he stopped and whispered in my ear, “What makes you think we only feed at night?”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. I waited until the door closed behind Drake before I let out the breath I was holding.

***

In a situation where one finds oneself cold, in an empty, dirty old room, there are two options. One: light a fire, wet a cloth and start cleaning. Or, two: lift the rusty old trapdoor, slip down into the damp and the dark with nothing but a candle, and sift through spiders and possible skeletons to find a box of journals.