The Heart's Ashes
Page 126

“Time ter go then, luv.” A face appeared between the bars.
“Where’s Jason?”
“Lieutenant Knight has business to attend.” The keys clinked heavily against the iron cell, and the metal groaned, wreaking as the door parted for what I imagined was the first time in hundreds of years.
Another man, a dirty, bloodstained one with rough hair, stepped in and grabbed my arm, yanking me from the bed.
“Ow,” I cried out. “You nearly took my arm off.”
“Shut up,” the other said. “Yur whinin’ e’ll do yur no good ere, lassie.”
“Please?” I looked up at the man, searching his grey eyes for any sign of familiarity. “Just let me go—I’m not what he says.”
“We’ll be lettin’ the council decide that.”
I glanced backward to the safety of my cell, wishing I could grab the bars as we passed into the long, dark corridor. I dared to inspect the lengths of the black tunnels, but saw nothing, not even other cages.
“Move it!” The man shoved me hard; my hands fell to the stony steps and I pushed up, climbing each one slowly, my feet tangling in the lace of my dress. “I said move it.”
“I am,” I screeched when he shoved me between my shoulder blades. “These steps are really steep.”
When we reached the top, finally, bone deep exhaustion swept through me. I leaned on the wall to catch my breath but the man shoved me through the doors and a sharp blast of daylight hit my eyes, blinding me. I covered my face, unable to see through the white.
“Not what ‘e says, ehy?” The man asked. “Then ‘ow come a week wi’ no food gets yer all shy’n away from ‘er sun?”
A week? Has it been a week? I straightened my spine. “I’m human—we all do after a week with no light.”
The man groaned and gripped my arm, guiding me out of the light to a long, dark and draughty corridor. My toes scrunched up and lifted to the sides a little, escaping the spongy, mossy carpet.
“Keep movin’. Faster,” the man ordered, driving me forward by my arm.
The tall, reaching walls of this fortress were oddly terrifying; seeming to tower over and watch as we pass, like the ceiling was made of eyes, and the walls, long tendrils of evil, waiting to grab me. Dad took me to a castle like this once on a History tour we took, but it had been clean, maybe only slightly musty, with old books and dusty carpet.
“What’s that horrid smell,” I asked, peeling my wrist away from my nose in an attempt to distinguish it. It reeked like the men’s bathroom at a truck stop.
“Death,” said the Englishman.
God, this is where David lived since he became a vampire? No wonder he’s always so serious.
The same gel-like slime on the walls in the cell seemed to have spread like a snotty cold to the stones out here, too, and the once beautiful old paintings between each doorway were all torn, discoloured with long streaks of what looked like blood. The faces of the men, immortalised in paint, peered out at us as we wandered swiftly through the dark, to where, I had no idea.
“Here.” The man stopped in front of a large, wooden door, its iron hinges seeming to hug it, or maybe imprison it. He rapped twice with the iron ring at the centre. The door opened almost immediately.
“Jason?” I cried, so happy to see his beautiful face, until I remembered what he’d done.
He smiled to himself and grabbed my arm. “I’ll take her from here, boys.”
The men walked away and I stared up at the boy who once saved me. He looked down at my body, and I felt ashamed at my own appearance; my beautiful wedding dress, completely stained on one side with blood, was ripped at the sleeve, looking tatty and disgraceful.
Jason closed his eyes for a second, his brow pulling in the centre.
“Jason,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears as I reached up and touched his fingertips. “Please?”
His grip tightened on my arm, his mad eyes opening, brimmed to the edges with a dark fury I’d never seen in them before. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Wait. Please. Don’t take me in there.”
Through the doorway, the existence of life became apparent right away. Though I dared not look up, could feel their presence—vampires. Keeping my eyes hidden under the curtain of my hair, I peered out through the strands of brown and studied the room. Open, almost rounded, with a roaring fire to the right of a long table, which sat in front of tall, rectangle windows.
“Lords of the High Council.” Jason stopped in the middle of the room and bowed to seven men, sitting behind one side of the table; each one with hands cusped in front of them, glaring judiciously. “I bring you the accused.” From a command I didn’t see, Jason thrust me forward with a soft shove, sending me to the floor beside his feet—the balls of my palms hitting the stone with a jolt, before my knees buckled down heavily after them.
“Of what crime do we accuse?” A man with a deep, austere voice spoke.
Please don’t say it, Jason? Please don’t.
Jason stepped in front of me, blocking my view. “She is a Lilithian pure blood.”
“And—” another asked; I didn’t want to look up, I knew what was up there, but the voice of that man had the most unusual, theatrical ring to it; soft, kind, yet somehow, with a cynical undertone that scared me. “How do we know this? She looks merely human to me.”
“My Lords,” Jason started. “Humans do not bleed to death and endure, they do not break their spines then walk again—” he laughed without humour, presenting me with his palm, “—and they do not survive vampire bites, without the genetic capability.”
A humble muttering spread through the men; I braved a glance through Jason’s legs. He pressed his feet together and stepped closer to me.
“And what does the child have to say for herself?” the theatrical voice asked.
Jason moved aside and I hid my face behind my hair, feeling safer under my shaggy mask.
“Well, speak up, girl.”
My mouth opened in the shape of a vowel, but nothing came out.
A man appeared beside me, making my heart race, pulsing hot blood through my body as the flow of his dark cloak brushed the ground around him like a parachute. “Do you know who I am?” he asked, his curled finger lifting my chin.
I shook my head.