Threats and promises
"Listen to me very closely," Soren whispers cruelly, drawing his face close as he jabs a finger into Azrael's chest, his nails cutting through flesh like a knife through butter. He groans. "That little girl is mine and mine alone, you try anything on her again and I will rip your dirty f***ing heart out and leave it for the crows for you to find." His voice is soft, and yet Soren looks so mad for a moment I fear he might turn on me too. The fear and amazement at the horror of it all roots me on the spot, staring, not fully certain of anything I'm hearing. Soren's words sound like poison dripping from his mouth. Vulgar. Foul. It sends a shiver through me. It seems every time I think I've seen the worst of him, he just gets infinitely worse. He really must have been trying to behave around me. Or maybe he is always like this, I think faintly. Always changing, always unpredictable, always mad.
"Serena, I want you to listen to me and only me. " he says slowly, the muscles working in his throat. The Prince's words shimmer through the air in the same way the white haired vampires did. A glamour. He doesn't look at me, his eyes still trained on the vampire who appears to be losing blood at an alarming rate. There is a splatter of blood on his horns, and on the side of his cheek, and he wipes it away with the side of his sleeve forcefully. I can't tell if it's my own or the creatures. "You are going to leave here. I want you to take your sword, and if anyone, anyone, tries to touch you, you have my full permission to take your sword and chop off their hand." My mind begins to blur again, like the way you can't see around the edges of your vision, hazy and distorted. I can't decide whether he is fully joking or not, but from his history of kill streaks, I'd be prepared to wager he isn't. I nod, and realising he can't see me, call out:
"Okay." He didn't need to tell me twice. Any excuse to get some swings in at a vampire is always a welcome one. After all, it wouldn't even be killing them, vampires regenerate limbs faster than it takes an elf to get drunk- that is to say, fast. That's why it is so important to burn a vampire after you take out their heart- stops them from coming back. But Soren didn't need to know I have ulterior motives for vampire hunting, so I keep these thoughts to myself.
As if in a dream, I pick up my sword off the ground, clenching the hilt so tightly that my hand begins to shake- or may it is from fear. Either way I cannot tell. My feet drag to the door, and it's like someone else is controlling my limbs, like I am a marionette on strings. The feeling of the glamour leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth and a wallowing pit in my stomach, but I am helpless to its effects.
Before I know it, I am out the door, streaking down hallways with a sword in my hand, and a dazed look in my eyes. Vampires recoil as I pass, eyeing my sword, and elven butlers push themselves against the wall to let me through. Covered in blood and breathing heavily, I probably look as mad as Soren. I feel it. But glamoured or not there is still one thing I need to do.
I must find Ithuriel.
***
"Thank the heavens," I sigh at last, breaking out into the open air of the castle ground. I feel my shoulders ease as my body relaxes into itself, and tuck my sword into its sheath, feeling the weight of the glamour lift off me. The cool air of dusk hits me in the face, fresh and sharp, and makes me painfully aware of the scent of blood rising from my skin. Fortunately, it would seem that most of the vampires now congregated inside- possibly feasting. Better that than hunting me, I think.
In the courtyard carriages are being emptied by elf butlers, the dying sun casting golden shadows over them that plays in their silky hair and flashes on their cheeks. Some lug heavy cases over their shoulders, the weight causing them to stoop low over the ground. Other more gifted elves simply snap their fingers and the cargo from the carriages disappears, presumably teleported to the designated room in the castle. The flowers in the courtyard have begun to close against the darkness, their buds drooping solemnly onto one another, locking themselves away. And while elves continue to bustle round, the air itself remains still and cold, as even the wind fears to breathe in this godforsaken place.
Ithuriel the fox paces the length of our carriage, his antennae pulsing angrily, his fur bristled, tail bushy. Two green nymph women wearing long, floppy hats and bright white gemstones gawk over him from the carriage across, whisper to each other and pointing at the pretty ferns and flowers that run down the foxes spine. Their dark, swirling tattoos ripple over their skin as they laugh to one another, eyes glowing with delight. I think for a moment they might want to steal him.
Heavily, I walk over to the carriage, my feet dragging beneath me like a sack of rocks, and all at once I become aware of how tired I'd become. The glamour had emptied my mind of thoughts, made me focused on getting out and not much else, but now it is lifted it's taking all I have to not just collapse on the spot. Ithuriel catches sight of me. His antennae sway with alarm.
Blood? He asks as I approach, eyes flashing. You were attacked? I shake my head, reaching a hand out to steady myself on the side of the carriage. My head spins nauseously.
"Not exactly," I mutter, reaching over to withdraw the key I had stowed away in the little red box. I press the lion key into my palm, reading the inscription: Room 7.
"We will talk about it later," I tell Ithuriel under my breath, waving a butler over with a frantic gesture. Ithuriel says nothing, watching me through two toned fox eyes. I can tell he is already piecing things together in his mind, and the idea of it scares me. A part of me wonders if perhaps he already knows how horribly wrong the plan had gone. Another part of me doesn't care.