Mark of Betrayal
Page 24

“I say we set a date for the coronation at the House meeting tomorrow.”
“No. It will be discussed between the Private Council first,” Mike said.
“It should be an event determined and agreed on by all, not just those who—”
“That’s enough.” I stopped it before it started. “I am officially ruling that no one talks politics or battle tactics at the table for the rest of the night. I am so sick of these arguments.”
“Here, here.” Arthur rapped his knuckles on the table and dug a fork into his dinner.
Slowly, everyone went about their meals, and quiet conversations around the table made for a very pleasant evening. Until Eric mentioned le Château de la Mort.
“Elysium!” Arthur slammed his napkin on the table; I glanced up, shocked.
“I'm sorry, Councilman. I meant no disrespect.” Eric looked into his plate.
“Let it be known—” Arthur pointed at each person along the table, “—this is the last time anyone will call my home such a name.”
“Whoa, hang on.” I frowned across at him. “Isn’t that what it’s called?”
“No.” He took his napkin up again and flipped it into his lap. “It’s not.”
“It’s a nickname,” Morgaine said.
“But that’s what David always called it, too.”
“Did he now?” Arthur’s eyes narrowed.
“Urm…uh, maybe it wasn't him who called it that.” I didn't want to get him in trouble when he ‘came back to life.’ “So, what’s it really called?”
“Le Château Elysium.”
“Elysium? Is that like the gardens in the rivers of the Underworld—in Greek Mythology?”
“Yes.” Arthur gave Eric a sideways glance. “When the castle was built by my ancestor—”
“Your ancestor?” I screeched, then gulped it all back in. “I mean…sorry. Continue…”
“Yes,” Arthur said, letting out a breath through his nostrils. “The castle was commissioned by a man named John Philippe Knight—built as a home, a sanctuary—a place to end all journeys. And so, he named it after the place he believed to be the afterlife.”
“So, why do they call it the Castle of Death?”
“Of the Dead,” Eric corrected, becoming smaller beside Arthur.
“Because—” Arthur turned his head slowly to look away from Eric. “Being that, in Greek Mythology, Elysium is a place the dead go and, over the centuries many deaths occurred at the castle, vampires have quite amused themselves with this heinous nickname.”
“Yeah, but, Elysium is were the blessed dead go, right? Like Heaven?”
“Precisely. It is a place of rest, a sanctuary. Not a tomb,” he said.
“And this bothers you?” I asked. “This nickname.”
He eyed each of the faces staring back at him. “I grew up there, as a boy. It was always only a home to me. I’ll not have her name tarnished by ignorance.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “Fine. Like Arthur said, no one calls it de la Mort again. Got it?”
Everyone on both sides of the table nodded, mumbling to themselves.
Arthur bowed his head, smiling softly. “Thank you for your support, my lady.”
“You’re welcome.”
Petey and I laid on my bed, listening to music, while my foot tapped out the beat of all my emotions. The night outside was incredibly still, slipping past my open balcony door and resting on my brow in a mist of perspiration. It made Petey’s fur, where I lay my head on his ribs, stick to the back of my neck. “This song reminds me of her, you know—of my mum.”
As always, Petey didn’t respond, but I told him all about her anyway—all about her terrible cooking, the boyfriend who left when she fell pregnant with Harry, and the way she’d dance around the living room with me, singing into hairbrushes. It almost felt like Petey shared my loss, like he knew her too, or at least knew what it felt like to miss somebody that much.
When my playlist ended, I talked a while longer, letting midnight creep closer and closer, while the distant song of a cricket gave me a feeling of safety, knowing there were no evil vampires down in the garden, thankfully. Not even my knights. But they were right out in the corridor—guarding me from evil housekeepers and deadly dust motes.
“I feel like a kid being punished and made to stay in her room,” I said to Petey. “I mean, I know I can leave, but I feel like Falcon’s my dad—waiting to bark at me if I come out.”
The dog’s chest shook a little, his musty kibble breath making me cringe.
I rolled over and looked into his pale blue eyes. “Did you just laugh, Petey?”
He held eye contact, his tongue hanging out, but beyond that gaze was the kind of awareness I’d always seen there—like he was an old soul. “I wonder how you became his dog, Petey—Jason’s,” I said. “And I wish I could read your mind—wish you could talk to me about him.”
Petey edged forward and licked my nose; I giggled, pushing him away by his collar.
“I'm okay, boy. It’s just…well, I don't see him so much in my dreams now. It’s almost like I was left with a certain amount of memories, and now I've used them all up.” I thought about his sparkling green eyes, how I loved them in a different way to what I love David's—like they looked the same, but detained different truths. “It’s getting worse, you know—this…well, David just isn't who I thought he was, and I…” I couldn’t say it to Petey, because I wasn’t sure I’d figured it out in my own head yet. “Love means loving someone no matter what, right?”
A low whine sounded in the back of Petey’s throat.
“There are just so many things in David’s past that I still don't know, and I'm starting to wonder if I would love him if I knew them all. And him not speaking to me just leaves me alone with all this in my head, and I can't sort it out myself, Petey. I can't. I am the worst advice giver ever, and yet I'm the only one that can give myself advice about this.”
The dog cocked his head; I looked down at his big, heavy paws, making impressions in my white quilt, then flopped onto my back and wound my hair around my fingertip.
“If this was Emily I was speaking to, and she said, ‘hey, Ara, my husband was really cruel as a child and everyone who knew him as an adult cringes when they think of him,’ I’d tell her she should run, you know. That it’d only be a matter of time before that cruelty came out on her. But I love him.” I sighed, half waiting for Petey to tell me what to do. “I don't know. Maybe I just need to see him. Maybe when I look into his eyes and see the humanity I know is there, I’ll forget everything I've made him out to be in my mind while I’ve been here.” I sat up and jumped off the bed. “That’s it, Petey. I'm going to see him!”
My iPod fell off the bed with the sudden movement; I grabbed it and pressed play on the David playlist, then opened Arietta’s dresser drawer, pulled out my hairbrush, lip-gloss and a few other travel essentials, stopping when a low growl sounded from behind me.
I spun round to Petey’s bared teeth. “What? What’s wrong?”
He didn't answer, so I turned back to continue gathering stuff, but the dog appeared beside me, snatching my hairbrush up in his teeth.
“Hey! Give that back.”
He leaped over my bed and ran across the room.
“Get back here!” I climbed over the pillowy obstacle and darted after him. “I'm going, Petey. You can't stop me.”
The white ball of fur dropped the brush between his paws and showed his teeth again, growling, probably attempting to look scary.
“Argh. I'm not afraid of some overgrown marshmallow with a throat condition.” I stomped over and grabbed my hairbrush, all slimy and gooey, from the floor. “And what's it to you, anyway? You're a dog!”
He sneezed at me, wiping his paw across the brow of his nose a few times.
“Petey, I have no idea what that means.” I opened my bedroom door for him. “Now, get your fluffy tail out of my room and let me pack. And don’t think I won’t lock you outside if you show me those teeth one more time, Petey.”
He trotted off, and I looked at Falcon, who leaned back, propping his foot on the wall as he folded his arms. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I said, and slammed the door. I can't believe I have to defend my plans to a canine. And what’s worse, Falcon definitely heard me say ‘pack.’ My shoulders dropped, my chest sinking with a sigh as I looked at the balcony; I’d have to jump if I was going to escape. And I’d have to move fast. Falcon was not born yesterday. I probably had about three minutes to get out of here.
I took off on my right foot, the vamp speed knocking a small side table into the corner of an armchair as I passed, and appeared in my wardrobe, still in one piece, then scanned the shelves, top to bottom, for a suitcase or even a plastic shopping bag to stuff my clothes in. A handkerchief folded around a stick would even do. But, there was no need to go all Huckleberry Finn style, since my suitcase was on the top shelf.
I took a leap toward it, with a little too much speed, and hit my head on the roof before falling back down on my butt in a pathetic heap. “Some vampire you are, Ara,” I said to myself. “Let’s hope you can land better when you jump off the third storey.”
I clambered to my feet, dusting myself off, and looked up at the top shelf again.
“I will get you,” I said to the troublesome suitcase; it scowled back down at me. “And when I do, I'm going to stuff you so full you won't be able to zip yourself up for a week without lubri—”
“Need some help?” Mike asked, leaning on the doorframe; his brow arched, arms folded.
Petey sat by his feet, his tongue hanging out over his smug dog-grin.
“Dibber-dobber,” I snickered at the over-protective fluff-ball—the dog, not Mike.
“What are you doing, Ara?” Mike asked. “Aside from holding one-sided conversations with inanimate objects.”
“I'm going to see David.”
“Out of the question.”
“Mike?” I slouched forward, skulking out of my wardrobe behind him. “Why?”
“What's the point of us trying to protect our last hope if she's going to run off all by herself? What if Drake had a mole out there, just waiting for you to do something stupid?”
“Well, I don't care. I'm still going to see David.”
“Right. Come on.” He grabbed my arm.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To see Morgaine.”
“Why?”
“So she can talk some sense into you, since you seem to listen to her.”
* * *
“I say let her go.” Morgaine shrugged.
“What?” Mike and I both said at the same time—undertones of a different sentiment, though.
“Yeah. Mike, you heard what Arthur said yesterday. Drake’s not after her right now. He’s got other things going on.”
“You talked to Arthur about Drake?” I said.
“Yeah,” Morgaine said, as if this was old news.
“So, what, he thinks we’re not in any danger?”
“Not right now—apparently he’s not even in this country.”
“See?” I folded my arms, grinning haughtily at Mike.
“No!” Mike pushed my arms down from their fold. “It’s not safe.”
“Well, I don't care what you say.” I folded them again. “You know I’ll go if I want to, and you can't stop me.”
“Damn it, Ara.” He slammed his fist on the table, knocking Morgaine’s card tower over.
“Oh. Mike?” she whined.
“Sorry, Morg.” He looked back at me. “Ara, please, please just listen to me for once in your life, girl. Just once. I'm head of security for a reason. I don't believe it’s safe out there.”
“Then come with me. It’s just for a few days, Mike. I just need to see him—tell him I love him.”
Morgaine looked up at me then, her brow pulling at the centre.
I glared at her, confusion moving the muscles in my face. “What, Morg? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Oh, um—” She slid her fingers across the table, collecting her cards in a bunch. “No reason.”
I sunk back on my heels a little. The stress radiating off Mike’s body made even me feel tense. And I felt a little sorry for him, standing there, pinching the bridge of his nose, lacking comprehension for my convictions. If I could just put him inside my head, he’d see why this was so important. But I couldn't. And I couldn’t make him want to understand either.
I sighed, looking past him to the night sky, darkening the front of the manor. This was the first time I’d been in the Common Room, and I barely even noticed the cushy couches and the big open fireplace under the cloud of all my inner turmoil. The décor didn't match the Victorian style of the rest of the manor; this looked more like the lounge room at Vicki's house, but with a dining table in the middle of the room. “Mike, I'm sorry you disagree with me.”
“I just don't see the point, Ara.” He shook his head, dropping both hands onto the table. “If I can’t make you listen to me, what’s the point?”
“I do listen to you, Mike.” I touched his shoulder; he shrugged me off. “But I have to go see him. I can't rule a nation if my heart is broken.”