When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 232

“I call you all here today to discuss the grave matters that have befallen us in recent days, and make you aware of the fate of our own kind, of Faey, if we remain indignant of them.”

I announce, to which an angel in the eaves snickers to himself, making no attempt to hide his disbelief from the rest of the room. Besides me, Kal comes to place a hand on my shoulder, steadying me as my gaze flies up to the thin, pallid angel who flits carelessly above our heads. Unfortunately, it is not a sight I had not been expecting. Ithuriel had warned me of two angels among the ranks of the Illistrae clan that may make my bargaining for peace more hassle than its worth to anyone other than myself.

Fortunately, I am well equipt for dealing with his sort- the snide and the narcissistic. All they are is nothing but a fragile shell with an ego. Folding my arms over myself, I divert all attention in the room up to him, watching as his dim face bleaches of colour, as though he had spent too many days hiding from the sun. Kal and Ithuriel shoot him a foul look.

“Councillor Igor,” I say coldly, causing the angel to still, petrified at the call of his own name from my icy lips. While he may have the nerve to attempt to sway the crowds unfavourably against my call, it would seem he doesn’t have the vigour to back himself up when his own position is threatened. Perhaps it is my reputation he fears. Or more simply having his own ego crushed. How typical.

“Your silence tells me many things,” I muse, never shifting my gaze. “I thought that might be you. Your granddaughter has told me all about you,” I say with a small smile, but there is no warmth behind it. After all, I have no time for people who wish to scupper my plans. And Faey will have no place for them after this, either. Fortunately, as his eyes float down to the little winged girl who resides beside Ithuriel, he becomes promptly silent. But I can tell underneath his skin, his body is boiling with outraged questions.

Dismissing him for the time being, I return my gaze to the masses.

“Now I will say this once and only once, so I would like you all to listen very closely,” I instruct, darkness rippling out of my form to coil around the crowds of people. An atmosphere of discomfort strings its way across the room as my audience inch to be free of the black, intoxicating fog that blankets the room in its mist. Many of them have not yet seen the power of a soul, and those that have likely fear it with their very cores. I can tell by the mere beating of their hearts that the angels, the Folk, even the vampires of my court fear me as they would revere a god, but this is nothing new.

My power has commanded respect and loyalty for centuries. Finally it is time to put it to good use.

“As of today, the whole of Faey is in grave, grave danger,” I announce, raising my hand as a unified gasp resounds around the room. Nevertheless, I continue: “The entirety of my court are by now very much aware of the events that have befallen us, all of them have witnessed such events first hand-”

At this a series of whispers run through the crowd, heads turning in speculation, others in trepidation but all of which utter that despicable name upon the tips of their lips. When the hushed voices once again die down, I can hardly bring myself to utter such a disdainful name.

“My brother, Azrael Ventrue, has a power that is not of mortal essence. He has stolen the soul of a god- a power which I, too, possess. But he has gotten greedy. In a lust for power, he has been taking, and murdering, Folk for months under our noses. Disappearances from angels, pixies, elves, goblins, and even vampires, are no mere coincidence. They have been the work of my brother who is currently, as of this moment, trying to acquire five of the most dangerous, most powerful souls in the whole of Faey and use them to completely obliterate the world as we know it.”

At this, the room bursts into a chaotic mass of voices from all Folk alike.

“Are we going to die?”

“Who are these ‘souls’?”

“Are you really sure it was Azrael? How do we know you don’t want the souls for yourself?”

“It’s true what the King says,” says a gruff voice at the end of the room, pushing open a set of double doors as he strides through the crowds as though he owns the place. All at once, the entire room falls to a deathly silence as the crowd turns to face this burly man. “Azrael has become dangerous, and it is imperative that you trust the word of your Prince Soren, else we will all suffer the fate the traitor Prince has paved for us.”

Fangorn breaks off for a moment to work his way through the crowd, shouldering past the apprehensive Folk who spy his scars as though they are bombs. I can tell underneath the confidence there is a wariness in his heart. After all, this is a man who has been banished from the palace for several thousands of years, his place here has long since passed its welcome. But now, with the changing of tides, and a potential truce on the line, it is only fair that the outcast makes his way back home. I have missed having a friend like him around.

“Fangorn,” I smile amiably, a grin widening on my face as Fangorn strolls up to meet me, shaking my hand. “It’s good to have you back.”

“A pleasure to be here,” he chuckles under his breath, glancing around the room to survey the hordes of angels and vampires who linger and flit with a curious mixture of confusion and irritation. But having little time for formalities, Fangorn once again turns to the crowd, hands splayed theatrically up in the air, quelling the crowds to submission below him as they stand enthralled by the sight.

“For months on end, Azrael has been wreaking havoc under our noses. He has no regard for angels, or elves, and cares little about his own kind. Azrael intends to destroy Faey, and so Soren has decided that in light of all the recent events, it is imperative that a truce is called between angel and vampire kind. We must work together to stop Azrael from acquiring all five souls, and if we must, prepare ourselves for war too. It pains me to say this, but the traitor Prince will not relinquish his power easily, and he will not stop to get what he wants. He has already taken something from Prince Soren,” Fangorn adds with a morose expression. Bowing my head, I take a moment to quell the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes.

“Princess Serena,” the crowd whispers in a fearful acknowledgement. “Has Azrael taken her?”

From up in the eaves, once again, that snide snicker runs through the crowd, and my gaze is yet again pulled to Councillor Igor, whose grim face is twisted into a vile and bitter expression.

“That sounds like a vampire problem if you ask me,” he calls down, giving a mock pout. Breathing deeply, I refrain from the urge of reaching my magic up there and twisting the coils around his neck to cut off that arduous supply of nonsense spitting from his mouth. Murdering the head of the Angel’s council will do little to improve my image.

“It’s not, Igor,” Ithuriel pipes up from beside me, his two toned eyes narrowing as he surveys the Councillor with a sour disdain. Alighting in the air a few spaces above me, Dawn in his arms, he clenches his jaws at the array of angels before him, obviously holding back some rather biting words.

“Azrael was very much prepared to kill both me and your granddaughter Dawn to get what he wanted. I am afraid if you think this is merely a vampire problem then you are very, very mistaken.”

“Put it this way,” I say, cutting through Ithuriel with an apologetic smile. “As a symbol of goodwill, and a plea for your aid in our endeavours, I shall be returning the flame to you, if you promise to keep it safe from my brother. Those of you who agree to these terms are welcome to stay with my kind and harness the power of the flame, and visa versa. However, those of you who do not wish to be a part of this treaty will be exiled from both kingdoms. Faey does not have a place for traitors and disagreements any longer. From hence forth, I propose a truce, so we might work together in order to stop my brother from inflicting any more disaster upon Faey, for we will need all the help we can get.”

There is a moment of deliberation, murmurs amongst the crowd, until at last Igor speaks up once more, mockery swimming in his eyes.

“Giving us the flame? Sounds like you are putting yourself at a loss. What could you possibly serve to gain from this, Scarlet prince?”

“Actually,” says a voice from behind me. “It’s Scarlet King.”