Six days have passed since we stood over the glowing fern in the archive, and the torches outside in the eastern ward have not gone out once. I walk down the stone corridor with Hunter keeping pace two steps behind me, his tailored black coat rustling against the damp masonry. The air smells of charred pine and cold sweat from the hundreds of vampires packed into the narrow streets. Every ledge and archway holds a watching face, their eyes reflecting the amber glow of the synthetic bottles dangling from their belts. Nobody shouts as we pass them now, but the silence they keep is heavier than any noise. My dark velvet gown sweeps the floor, kicking up small clouds of gray dust that settle right back into the cracks between the paving stones.
“They are waiting for you to give the word,” Hunter says, his gravelly voice cutting through the distant murmur of the crowd ahead. He reaches down to adjust the silver brooch on his collar, a habit he has whenever we are about to enter a room full of trouble. “Cassian’s men have been cornered near the old cistern for an hour. If you do not step in soon, the commoners will tear the iron gates off their hinges.” I keep my chin high, my eyes fixed on the torches flickering at the end of the passage. “Let them try,” I murmur back, though the thought of losing control over the ward makes my stomach tighten with a sharp, cold ache. “If Cassian cannot keep his people from hoarding human prey, then the gates are the least of his problems.”
We turn the corner into the wider square where the marble pillars rise up to meet the vaulted ceiling. Hundreds of vampires fill the space, shoulder to shoulder, blocking every exit with their heavy coats and sharp, waiting stares. At the center of the mob stands Lord Cassian, flanked by three of his most trusted guards, their hands resting nervously on the pommels of their swords. The moment the crowd sees my velvet gown coming through the archway, the low murmurs die out completely. People step aside in waves, pressing themselves flat against the damp stone walls to clear a path straight to the center. It is a terrifying kind of obedience, bought with endless rows of glass vials and the promise of a hunger that finally stops gnawing.
“Queen Lilly,” Cassian says, stepping forward with a smile that does not quite reach the corners of his mouth. He is trying to look bored, but the twitch in his left thumb gives away the panic rattling underneath his tailored waistcoat. “We were just discussing how best to distribute your little green creation to the outer districts. There is no need for this unseemly gathering.” I stop two paces away from him, letting my gaze drift over the terrified guards standing behind him. “You were discussing how to hide the empty holding cells beneath your manor, Cassian,” I reply, my voice carrying the sharp, absolute ring I use for court matters. The silence in the square deepens until the only sound is the distant dripping of water from the high stone vaults.
“That is a lie,” one of Cassian’s guards snaps, his hand jerking toward his blade before Hunter’s shadow falls across his chest. Hunter does not draw his weapon, but he steps close enough that the guard freezes, his fingers trembling against the leather grip. “We have followed every decree you laid down since the solstice council,” Cassian insists, his voice rising just enough to echo off the marble pillars. “The synthetic brew is being poured daily, and the commoners are fat and lazy on it. What more could you possibly want from us?” I reach into the pocket of my gown and pull out a small, stoppered vial filled with Levin’s clear, bubbling truth serum. “I want the truth about the missing travelers from the northern road, starting with the ones your servants brought in three nights ago.”
Cassian’s face goes pale beneath his dark hair, his dark eyes darting toward the stone archways where the crowd blocks every possible escape route. “You are listening to an elf,” he spits out, the disgust in his tone thick enough to choke on.
“A creature who does not even belong in this domain, meddling in matters of blood and crown. The court will never stand for a foreign pet dictating who lives and who rots in the lower vaults.” I step closer to him, ignoring the way my own pulse hums against the memory of Levin’s fingers on the glass bottle.
“The elf is smarter than every lord in this room combined,” I say softly, lifting the vial so the torchlight catches the pale liquid inside. “And unlike you, he does not need to bleed innocent travelers to keep his strength.”
“Seize them,” Cassian shouts to his remaining guards, spinning around in a frantic bid to break through the ring of commoners behind him. But the crowd does not move an inch, their arms crossed over their chests as they watch the lords flounder in their fine clothes. Hunter moves with the silent speed of a falling shadow, his hand clamping around Cassian’s collar before the lord can take two steps. The other guards try to draw their swords, but twenty commoners surge forward from the edges of the square, pinning their arms to their sides with brutal efficiency.
Within seconds, Cassian and his men are disarmed and forced to their knees on the cold stone, their fine coats stained with the grit of the ward. I walk slowly around them, the hem of my gown brushing against Cassian’s polished leather boots.
“Take them down to the lower vaults,” I tell Hunter, not breaking eye contact with the trembling lord at my feet. “We are going to find out exactly how many humans died to feed their refined tastes.” Cassian looks up at me, his mouth twisted into a bitter sneer as the guards haul him up by his elbows. “You think this solves anything, Lilly? The elders will demand his head the moment they find out an elf helped you rewrite the laws of our court.” I turn my back on him, signaling for the crowd to part as the prisoners are dragged toward the iron-barred stairs. “Let them try,” I say, and walk back into the dim corridors toward the laboratory.
The laboratory is quiet when I push open the heavy oak door, smelling faintly of crushed stems and damp earth. Levin is standing by the worktable, his long light-green hair tied back with a strip of silver cord as he measures another batch of clear liquid into a row of glass vials. He does not look up when the hinges groan, his attention entirely fixed on the blue flame flickering beneath a copper retort. The scent of spring meadows follows him across the room, cutting through the heavy gothic gloom of the subterranean floor like a breath of clean air. He looks entirely out of place among the stone shelves and dried roots, yet somehow he fits the space better than any vampire who has ever lived down here.