Page 36

Complaining servants survived longer than cheerful ones. This one will do nicely, indeed.

The maid disappeared through an arched doorway not far away. Elarian waited for a breath, then another, gaze sweeping across the empty corridor. She never trusted what other Blades called luck.

You either made the kill, or you failed.

Wicker scraped lightly against stone, then that, too, faded, leaving only the oppressive hush of the black castle.

When at last she was satisfied that no one followed the maid, Elarian silently leapt from the rafters. Plush carpeting deadened the sound of her landing. Silver flashed as a blade from her waist found her palm.

Beyond the doorway stretched a maze of narrow service corridors. They jutted out like the broken ribs of some grotesque beast. Some descended deeper into the castle’s bowels; others connected at sharp angles that only led to blackness. Here and there, a few sharply rose to the heights above.

Humming to herself, the maid continued up the main corridor crowded with crates and piles of bloodied sheets. The air became suffocating with the thick reek of iron and lye. Wreathed in shadows, Elarian slowly followed until bare stone replaced polished marble. As she drew closer, the vampire’s hushed words slowly formed in her ears.

“We cannot be rid of this vile place soon enough,” the maid murmured to herself.

She paused at a large basin filled with stinking vinegar. Elarian melted into the shadows, breath held. Absorbed by her task, the woman paid no heed to the assassin lurking only a few paces away. Long, black-tipped hands worked with quick efficiency, sorting through the gowns in the basket and throwing various ones—darkened with blood, no doubt—into the basin of vinegar. Her nose wrinkled now and then, and once, she pocketed something small plucked from a folded bodice.

Intrigued, Elarian crept to the opposite wall, then stared at the vampire’s neck. Her faded brown hair was held in a high twist with several wooden hair sticks—heads carved into ornate wings. Skin pallid and gray like the rest of the shivaem stretched over her gaunt frame, clothed in rich crimson velvets.

Whoever her mistress was, she could be no ordinary vampire.

As if answering in confirmation, the maid spoke again. “It is a wonder she has withstood Prince Lucan’s bed all these years.”

Lucan.

Elarian bared her teeth as his face flashed across her vision, blackened blood running down the sharp edge of his jawline.

It all happened so quickly; she wasn’t entirely certain she had moved on her own accord.

One moment, the maid was bent low, digging through her mistress’s gowns, and the next, she was thrashing against Elarian’s chest.

Shadows bent around the two women. The vampire clawed at the silver blade buried in the side of her neck even as another broke the skin over her wretched heart. Elarian hissed against her skull, wrenching backward with her shoulders.

“He—”

Elarian threw herself forward. The two crashed into the high wash basin. The vampire let out a high-pitched squeal as the silver blade buried itself between her ribs. Thrashing, she reached a clawed hand back toward Elarian’s head. She ducked away in time, but the vampire’s claws caught the edge of her shoulder. Something hot trickled down her back, followed by a rotted feeling blossoming in her heart.

Incensed, Elarian spun the vampire around to face her. The silver blade buried several inches deep in her neck gleamed brightly. Thick, red hives replaced her beauty.

“That was a fucking mistake, shivaem,” Elarian hissed.

Every instinct inside the woman long-since shaped into a weapon urged her to release the vampire before she died. That was the whole point of this exercise—trap the maid, interrogate her, then dispose of her wretched corpse.

But Lucan’s echoing laughter goaded her on.

When you kill one of my pawns, does it satisfy the ache in your heart? Or do you only think of bleeding for me again, darling?

Wrenching the silver blade free from her neck, the vampire sank to the floor, wet gurgles quickly fading. Elarian stared at her convulsing body, face red and riddled with pustules. Mesmerizingly perfect in their undeath, only silver revealed their grotesque nature.

“You’re even uglier than most,” Elarian said as she kicked the still corpse.

And even deader than she needed.

With a sigh, Elarian stooped low and rifled through the maid’s pockets. She pulled out a golden ring inlaid with rubies from an inner pocket. Cool to the touch, the sparkling crimson gems cast an eerie glow over Elarian’s moon-pale hands. The blue tinge that had settled into her skin since departing the Darkening faded into gray until her skin took on the corpse-gray hue of the dead vampire. Stomach twisting at the sight, she shoved the ring into a pouch at her waist.

Besides several coins and a loose gemstone from a coin purse, Elarian found nothing else of note. Cursing at herself for her impatience, she turned her attention to disposing of the body. Black blood had splashed across the corridor walls around them; an impossible mess to clean without hours to spare.

She vowed to make sure Lucan suffered greatly for this setback.