When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 230

“I thought you were married to him,” Reshma starts softly as she continues to soothe me, stroking down my back to quell the shivers that rock my body with a series of breathy gasps. Gently, she attempts to usher me out of the corridor, before a spark of realisation hits me. Hurriedly, I scoop up the loaf of bread I had slipped under the table from , taking a hunk of cheese with me for good measure as I scoot around, picking up non perishables and preserves from the vast platters of food before us.

When at last my hands are full and brimming with as much food as I can carry, I offer some over to the faery before me, how wavers before the door, eyebrows raised?

“For me?” she says, placing a hand on her chest in disbelief. I nod, letting my body do the work while my tongue continues to be tied in shock. Handing her silently a few loaves of bread and stacks of cheese in silent thanks, I allow her a moment to stow them away in her black bag, cutting the noise between us into an eerie and awaiting silence. It is the least I can do, really. From how skinny she is, I doubt she gets food more than once a day- sooner or later she wont even have enough energy to fly.

I can imagine being down here, a slave to a master whose whim is spontaneous and will is cruel as a knife, eating is considered a luxury more than a necessity. From the hungry growls that had accompanied our feast at the dining table, partly drowned by the noise and slurps of hungry, scoffing royals, I would presume that Reshma hasn’t had a proper meal for days.

The least I can do to thank her is ensure she gets that.

“Alright,” she relents at last. “But lets get going. Better not to stick around.”

The dark faery’s eyes are darting as we walk swiftly down the corridor, making haste to avoid colliding with any watchful eyes that Azrael has positioned around the palace. Much to our fortune, however, we seem to meet none, for the hallways are empty and the shadows have faded against the dim light that resonates from my body.

Reshma thought I was married to him- that beast,  I think incredulously to myself, allowing the shivers of shock to subside from my body.  At least now I know that my attempt to fool the palace was at least somewhat successful, that my skills at pretending are not as abysmal as I had worried they might be.

“You said your name was Serena Ventrue,” Reshma says slowly, spying the fretful look upon my space. Perhaps she feels the need to explain herself, or maybe she simply wants to give me some ounce of reassurance (I could really use something like that nowadays). But whatever the reason, she continues:

“When he came in here and bewitched the place, that is what he said to call him: Azrael Ventrue, Lord of Souls,” she whispers into her palm, shaking her head as she clenches her eyes shut, puffing out a breath as though dismissing with it some lingering memory.

“I suppose you realised then that the name Ventrue isn’t bound to one vampire, then?” I say, almost allowing myself a chuckle, until I promptly stifle it. Laughter would attract attention, and this is a place that no amount of attention could do any good for. Slowly, Reshma nods her head.

“Everyone has heard of the infamous Soren Ventrue. Though nobody actually predicted that he might get himself a wife. I suppose he has softened in the last few weeks of his mating ceremony, because it is only just now that I realised you are not Azrael’s wife, but his.”

“How did you know? Was it that obvious?” I say at last, dread pooling in the pit of my stomach as I realise my  act might have not been so convincing as I made out to believe. Frowning, Reshma tugs on my sleeve dragging my arm along as she leads us both out another door, ushering me in a series of quiet whispers into a long empty corridor full of paintings and peculiar gems emblazoned on the wall. She starts off at a brisk walk that I fortunately have no trouble keeping up with, speeding down the corridors with me in tow, quick enough that any listeners would not catch our low conversation as we pass.

“No, no, you appeared content with it- outwardly at least,” she assures, her eyes darting as we continue to skit down the hallways, pressing ourselves to the side of the corridor as though desiring to slink into the shadows entirely. If only I could somehow manage that power that Soren has- his ability to render himself little more than darkness and shadow at a mere snap of his fingers. Being quite literally a flaming ball of light isn’t exactly the best way to avoid attracting attention by any standards.

“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t think he suspects you,” Reshma assures, placing a hand upon my shoulder.

At this, I allow a fraction of relief to flood my senses. Okay, I think inwardly. Good. At least I am not a complete failure. Perhaps to reassure me further, Reshma adds softly, her voice low with a deep twang:

“I think you had him fully convinced, and me too for a while. But when he laid you down on the table your aura slipped. You were terrified. I realised then what was going on- he was going to…. to rape you.”

She pauses for a minute, thinking over those words with a bitter disdain, her hands clenched to her sides, as if she would like nothing better to do than curl up into a ball and slip away. Or perhaps she is merely practising her hand movements when she gets the next opportunity to snap Azrael’s neck. It’s really quite hard to tell.

But before I can protest or say anything at all in particular, Reshma leads me into a new wing of the palace, pushing me gently through a set of double doors and into a steam filled room, the air heavy with vapour that evaporates from the heated pool in the middle of the room.

“Go have a bath, Serena,” she instructs firmly, glancing over my dishevelled body in a mother-like way, her eyebrows raising at the sight of blood along my collar that I had seemingly forgotten to wash away in my morning splash.

“I will be here when you come back. There are clothes and towels just round the corner. Feel free to ask me any questions when you are done. This place is soundproofed and warded, so there is no need for you to fear.”

Gingerly, I nod, for once allowing my body to relax, sinking into itself.

“I will see you when I am done,” I affirm, before slinking off, stripping down my clothes and slipping into the pool. Within the warmth of the bathhouse, I can finally allow the tension to melt from my shoulders as I slip into a blissful unawares, my mind folding in on itself as I sit in the water, my head rested back against the rim of the pool. And perhaps it is the incense, or maybe I am simply mentally exhausted from toiling away nights trapped in my room under the scrupulous gaze of Azrael, but in that moment I feel my consciousness begin to waver.

Before I know it, my eyes are flickering, lids heavy, feeling as though they are being dragged down by a weight on a string. Despite my best efforts to remain conscious, I feel my soul being drawn elsewhere, tugging on my heart as my vision slips from reality and into that comfortable void of blackness. Far off, I can hear the voice of Reshma tinkling in my ears, but is of no concern to me any more as my mind slides out into the world, dragged by that familiar thrumming tug at my heart to a place I could never hope to follow.

And just as I am beginning to think this unearthly blackness that envelops my vision will never subside, a light sparks against the gloom, swirling against the darkness. Tenderly, I reach out to grasp it in my hands, capturing it between my ghostly fingers.

Holding it between my cupped hands, I stare over this curious light, my eyes narrowed speculatively as I watch out the minute vision that plays inside.

My heart pounds at the sight: these are my people, my friends. This is where I want to be. Here, not rotting away in some dank part of Azrael’s new castle, where the only pleasantries he can spare to offer me are unwanted sex and a dining room filled with enchanted Faey Folk.

They aren’t really pleasantries at all.

At this thought, another sharp tug pulls at my heart, more insistent this time, and all at once, the light begins to expand around me, engulfing my form like a blanket of snow on a winter’s day. Then my feet touch solid ground, and suddenly I realise I am not in the bathhouse any more.