Page 50 of Blood & Bedlam

CHAPTER 26WALLACHIA, 1448

I can feel them approach, even without seeing, so faster I run.

The book is clutched in my hands, my pulse raging in my ears. I push my body to move faster, for my feet to remain as silent as possible over the stones of the library. Lower in the castle, I hear the groan of the doors as magic pushes against them, and I know that, below us, the delegation is working to undo my spellwork. Eventually they will succeed, but I can’t think about what is to come.

I run.

I resist the urge to fling out my subconsciousness, to cry for Vladimir. I know he is out on a distant battlefield, know that the Children of the Moon wait for him amongst the other soldiers, and it is the memory of his kind face, his shy smile, the stoicism of his convictions that I cling to.

The sounds of splintering wood and a blast that shakes the castle below signals to me that they have gained entry. I am out of time, and I try not to let the tears stinging my eyes fall. I need to be strong in these moments. I need to be like Vladimir, unwavering in my oath, the one I took to protect his people, the vows I made to him.

A year ago, they were hollow words spoken by a shell of a girl, but now? Now I am a wife. I am a queen, and I will do everything within me to uphold my word. Even betraying my own family. My breathing rushes from my chest on a staccato, the stitch in my ribs nearly excruciating, but I waste no time shoving the book onto the shelf where tales of myths and legends are housed. The book is jacketed by the leathered, human skin of my ancestors and inside it holds the pathway to the greatest power reserve housed on this plane.

It is the reason I was tasked with this mission in the first place, the farce of a wedding gaining nothing more than access to the sacred mountains here. In the end, it will be what protects Vladimir, will be how he protects his people. I work my hands over the air of the shelf, casting protection over it, shielding it from arcane weakness. For a moment, I worry that I have placed too much faith in this, and that I will have betrayed my family for nothing.

A small moon with crescents adorning appears, branding the spine of the book. The weathered flesh sizzles, and even before my eyes, it disappears, waiting for the one Elisabeta has foreseen to come and claim it. To read the words, and piece together the ritual that will turn my beloved into the monster he will need to become to save his people. A goddess.

That book will await Hecate’s arrival, and I can only pray to the Fates that she will be able to decipher the clues left by another witch, one whom she does not know. I am trusting a stranger on the word of a seer, but there is no turning back now. I cringe at the betrayal Vlad will feel, finding out I lied to him these many months, but I have grown to love him and his people. Irrevocably.

Voices grow louder, filled with rage. Screams erupt from the corridor as the doors to the library burst open. I run again, making for the steep stone steps that take me to the top of the tower. I can hear the clank of boots underfoot as my own clear the flat landing, the stars above shining just a touch brighter as if they know that I need their strength for this.

The night air whips around me so high into the heavens, and I back myself up, frantically uncorking the bottle of green liquid that will complete the next part of my plan. When the backs of my heels hit the stone edge, I pause for only a moment before uncorking the wax seal and bringing it to my lips. My hands shake, from fear or adrenaline or both, but as soon as the liquid touches my tongue, I settle.

The bitter taste of elderberry and cinnamon swirls in my mouth, cascades down my throat, and I know that whatever comes next does not matter. What is done is done. The frantic beating of my heart quells, my breathing steadies out, as I wait for the others to reach the top of the turret. Guards rush through the door, bloodied from the fight below, and my stomach turns at how many bodies may lie below us, bent and broken.

The group pushes in, the screech of their armor nearly unbearable against the night, but they hold. They wait. I feel his approach, feel his magic reaching out to mine in a familial bond that seeks out like and kind. His steps are unhurried, boots scraping on the stone as he climbs and we wait.

“Sister.” His greeting sounds like an admonishment, the disappointment dripping from my brother’s tongue as the guards part to make way for their commander. Their black armor, adorned with our family crest, is splattered with crimson, but all paled in the light of the moon. I straighten my back, lifting my chin to match his gaze. Blue eyes that shine like mine stare back at me, only darker. There is a smattering of blood over his cheek, and I swallow as we assess each other. My hand grips the empty vial tightly, my hold so strong I fear I may break the glass.

“This is unnecessary,” Alessandro tsks, shaking his head as he begins to remove the thick gloves on his hands. I fight the urge to run. It would do no good now anyway. His pace is slow, deliberate, showing his command over the guards, over me. The wind whips my hair around, pulling tendrils from the confines of the golden net, but I cannot feel the cold as the potion does its work.

“You have wasted a journey, Brother.” I keep my voice strong, refusing to cower. I am a queen, and he is a trespasser; an enemy of my people who brings naught but destruction and subjugation.

“Where is the Alchemy Index, Anselmina?” he demands, using my full name, scolding me like a child.

“I have no idea what you mean,” I respond, pushing confusion into my tone. His eye flits to the pulse point in my neck, counts the exhales of my breath. I can feel his magic seeking, searching for fallacy.

“We know you stole it when you left. Your maid”—he wipes briefly at the blood splattered over his cheek and my soul curdles, the realization that those screams from earlier were of his magic, tearing Elisabeta apart—“has told me as much.”

The rage in my chest rises. I want to kill him.

A tingling has begun in my toes, rising higher, washing away the numb of the cold. Nearly complete, I just need to keep him talking, gloating, a little while longer.

“It is not here. Did she tell you that, before you brutalized her like the animal you are?” I spit, challenging him in a way I know he will not be able to resist. The disrespect in my tone is foreign even to my tongue, and it lands with him like a lashing.

“I could bring her back. Tear her apart over and over again, keep her soul suspended in agony, if you would rather not tell me,” he taunts, and I feel the magic rising higher, ripping through my veins. We both know that the necromancy of his magic could do it, how powerful Alessandro is. He is a savant, even amongst the exalted ranks of our coven, but it will not matter in just a few more moments. “Father is disappointed in you, Mina. As are we all.”

A laugh bubbles up from my lips, and I take a small comfort in the indignant arch of his eyebrow. I have to fill the space, and now feels as good a time as any to release a lifetime worth of words unsaid.

“I care not for the approval or disapproval of a murdering tyrant.” I spit venom at his feet, and once I begin, I cannot stop. “How many innocents have been slaughtered in the pursuit of our power? How many lives will be lost still? We are a rot, Alesso. A disease amongst mortals. He sent me here to facilitate genocide, and I will not do it. I will not let you do it.” I seethe when my brother tosses back his head and laughs, a loud, chest-shaking musing at my words.

“You think you have stopped anything? Mina … as we speak, your husband goes to war. We have his seat of power, and his wife, who I am told he is quite besotted over. You played your part well, little sister. He will bow before us, or we will kill all who remain. We will perform the ritual and take in the magic that belongs to us, and our power will never again be challenged. Do you think this little stunt of yours will stop that? We are family, Mina. Our magic and powers are entwined, the constant current between us.”

When I do not respond, he sighs, dragging his fingers through his dark hair before leveling me a pitiful look.

“This is our fault. You were not ready for this, and a young maiden’s heart is easily smitten. I warned Father of this, but he had faith in your conviction to your duty. Our power is waning, Anselmina. A battery like this will sustain us for thousands of years. You have an obligation to your family. Now tell me where the damn book is.”

His voice is exasperated, and I know I have to act quickly. The low wall of the turret presses into the back of my thighs as I lean, seeking comfort.