Blood Prophecy
Page 9
“You’re hurt!” I took a step toward her but stopped when she snarled wordlessly at me. I glanced away to give her a moment of privacy.
I forced myself to remember the training my parents had given me, the bits and pieces of strategy I’d witnessed, the long boring political intrigues that fascinated my father, the vicious fighting arts that made my mother glow.
“She’s protecting something,” I realized slowly. When I turned back to Gwyneth she seemed fine, and even the blood had faded from her skirt. “Viola’s got something in that castle.” I felt certain of it. Mom would point out that no one spent that much energy protecting something unless it was precious, unless it did one of two things: made you weak or made you strong. And at the end of the day, that was the same thing.
Which meant Viola was vulnerable.
If I could just figure out what it was she was safeguarding, I could use it to fight my way free. I stood up, finally feeling like a Drake again: determined, reckless, and just a little bit eager to kick some serious ass.
Gwyneth tilted her head. “The last girl Viola possessed spent ten years weeping in the back of my cave. It was annoying.”
I paused, momentarily distracted. “There were others?”
“Some. None of them lasted. They died or went mad. Even the vampires couldn’t handle it, their bodies just gave up. Viola had to retreat back here, to this warped hole between dimensions.” She grinned wolfishly. “But none of them had the look you have now.”
“Good.” I went to the mouth of the cave. “But how do I get back in?” I wondered aloud, sorting through the weird cauldron of useless historical tidbits I knew about the twelfth century. Madame Veronique was very strict on making sure her descendants knew about the beginning of the lineage. I could be grateful for it, and still not trust her.
Twelfth-century Britain: people used spoons and knives to eat, since forks hadn’t been invented yet, dresses were called kirtles, women wore wimples over their hair and hawks were kept as hunting pets.
Trebuchets, courtly love, Robin Hood.
Useless.
Wait.
Trebuchet.
They were basically giant wooden slingshots used to pelt castles with fire and stones during warfare. Nobles were always fighting one another or the king, kind of like vampire society right now. Everyone had elaborate escape routes, such as tunnels leading out of the castle.
And if they could get out, then I could get in.
A small bubble of hope nearly made me giggle. I cleared my throat. “Gwyneth?” I looked back at her. “Where’s the tunnel?”
She tilted her head, impressed. “You might survive after all, girl.”
I just arched an eyebrow. “The tunnel.”
“Three leagues past that boulder, by the oak. Stay right.”
I had no idea how far a league was, but I didn’t care. I had a plan. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “Oh, Solange?”
“Yes?”
“If they catch you, don’t lead them back here.”
It felt good to be doing something. Even if it didn’t work, I felt less crazy just attempting it, less like I was suffocating under spiderwebs. The soft woods also helped to calm me, the green light and the smell of leaves and earth. It didn’t take me too long to reach the oak tree, acorns crunching under my feet. I had to duck right under the branches to see the curtain of thick ivy on the other side. I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t been looking for it.
I pushed through the tangled ivy until my knuckles scraped against a wooden door. The boards were soft and covered in moss. The hinges were iron and they creaked loudly when I pulled at it. Centuries of dirt and water damage had warped the door. I had to brace my feet against a rock and pull until my face was sweaty and hot. It finally unstuck just enough that I could slip through the opening.
The tunnel was as narrow and dark as I’d expected and dirt crumbled down the sides as I pushed through the cobwebs. I could hear the patter of rats and the scuttling of spiders and beetles. The smell was just damp and dark enough to have me thinking of Hel-Blar. Instinct made the little hairs on my arms stand up.
I kept walking, following the subtle incline as the passageway led up under the outer bailey, where the knights had been training. The sound of hoofbeats overhead was muffled. Clods of dirt rained over me. I sped up.
And then the tunnel shuddered once, as if a huge fist had just come down on the earth and stones arching over me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, breaking into a lopsided run as the ground continued to move. Rocks dislodged and fell until they tripped me. “Dragons and earthquakes? I really hate this girl.”
I kept running and the tunnel kept shaking until finally, just when I could see a line of light from the edge of a door, it started to cave in altogether. I couldn’t go back; there were too many rocks tumbling together. I struggled to climb over the mounds of dirt gathering up to my knees. The walls collapsed inward, earth and stones and rivulets of water all rushing to fill in the spaces around me. A rock bounced off my shoulder, bruising deep. Another one smacked into my ankle.
I dug out frantically, like an animal, refusing to look away from that sliver of weak light. I could almost reach the door. The more earth I shoved away, the more took its place. I spat it out of my mouth, blinked it from my eyelashes, shook it out of my ears. My nails tore to the quick, bleeding and stinging as they finally raked against the wooden planks of the castle’s tunnel entrance. I wiggled and shifted around so I could kick it with my heel until it finally groaned open.
I forced myself to remember the training my parents had given me, the bits and pieces of strategy I’d witnessed, the long boring political intrigues that fascinated my father, the vicious fighting arts that made my mother glow.
“She’s protecting something,” I realized slowly. When I turned back to Gwyneth she seemed fine, and even the blood had faded from her skirt. “Viola’s got something in that castle.” I felt certain of it. Mom would point out that no one spent that much energy protecting something unless it was precious, unless it did one of two things: made you weak or made you strong. And at the end of the day, that was the same thing.
Which meant Viola was vulnerable.
If I could just figure out what it was she was safeguarding, I could use it to fight my way free. I stood up, finally feeling like a Drake again: determined, reckless, and just a little bit eager to kick some serious ass.
Gwyneth tilted her head. “The last girl Viola possessed spent ten years weeping in the back of my cave. It was annoying.”
I paused, momentarily distracted. “There were others?”
“Some. None of them lasted. They died or went mad. Even the vampires couldn’t handle it, their bodies just gave up. Viola had to retreat back here, to this warped hole between dimensions.” She grinned wolfishly. “But none of them had the look you have now.”
“Good.” I went to the mouth of the cave. “But how do I get back in?” I wondered aloud, sorting through the weird cauldron of useless historical tidbits I knew about the twelfth century. Madame Veronique was very strict on making sure her descendants knew about the beginning of the lineage. I could be grateful for it, and still not trust her.
Twelfth-century Britain: people used spoons and knives to eat, since forks hadn’t been invented yet, dresses were called kirtles, women wore wimples over their hair and hawks were kept as hunting pets.
Trebuchets, courtly love, Robin Hood.
Useless.
Wait.
Trebuchet.
They were basically giant wooden slingshots used to pelt castles with fire and stones during warfare. Nobles were always fighting one another or the king, kind of like vampire society right now. Everyone had elaborate escape routes, such as tunnels leading out of the castle.
And if they could get out, then I could get in.
A small bubble of hope nearly made me giggle. I cleared my throat. “Gwyneth?” I looked back at her. “Where’s the tunnel?”
She tilted her head, impressed. “You might survive after all, girl.”
I just arched an eyebrow. “The tunnel.”
“Three leagues past that boulder, by the oak. Stay right.”
I had no idea how far a league was, but I didn’t care. I had a plan. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “Oh, Solange?”
“Yes?”
“If they catch you, don’t lead them back here.”
It felt good to be doing something. Even if it didn’t work, I felt less crazy just attempting it, less like I was suffocating under spiderwebs. The soft woods also helped to calm me, the green light and the smell of leaves and earth. It didn’t take me too long to reach the oak tree, acorns crunching under my feet. I had to duck right under the branches to see the curtain of thick ivy on the other side. I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t been looking for it.
I pushed through the tangled ivy until my knuckles scraped against a wooden door. The boards were soft and covered in moss. The hinges were iron and they creaked loudly when I pulled at it. Centuries of dirt and water damage had warped the door. I had to brace my feet against a rock and pull until my face was sweaty and hot. It finally unstuck just enough that I could slip through the opening.
The tunnel was as narrow and dark as I’d expected and dirt crumbled down the sides as I pushed through the cobwebs. I could hear the patter of rats and the scuttling of spiders and beetles. The smell was just damp and dark enough to have me thinking of Hel-Blar. Instinct made the little hairs on my arms stand up.
I kept walking, following the subtle incline as the passageway led up under the outer bailey, where the knights had been training. The sound of hoofbeats overhead was muffled. Clods of dirt rained over me. I sped up.
And then the tunnel shuddered once, as if a huge fist had just come down on the earth and stones arching over me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, breaking into a lopsided run as the ground continued to move. Rocks dislodged and fell until they tripped me. “Dragons and earthquakes? I really hate this girl.”
I kept running and the tunnel kept shaking until finally, just when I could see a line of light from the edge of a door, it started to cave in altogether. I couldn’t go back; there were too many rocks tumbling together. I struggled to climb over the mounds of dirt gathering up to my knees. The walls collapsed inward, earth and stones and rivulets of water all rushing to fill in the spaces around me. A rock bounced off my shoulder, bruising deep. Another one smacked into my ankle.
I dug out frantically, like an animal, refusing to look away from that sliver of weak light. I could almost reach the door. The more earth I shoved away, the more took its place. I spat it out of my mouth, blinked it from my eyelashes, shook it out of my ears. My nails tore to the quick, bleeding and stinging as they finally raked against the wooden planks of the castle’s tunnel entrance. I wiggled and shifted around so I could kick it with my heel until it finally groaned open.
