My Love Lies Bleeding
Page 58
“Hey, don’t touch my girlfriend.” Nicholas seethed.
“Girlfriend?” I blinked at him. He thought of me as his girlfriend? Then I shoved the guard back, before anyone could see me blushing. “I mean, get off of me.” The hall was beautiful, crowded with candles and lanterns hanging from the ceiling and even more mirrors everywhere. Apparently Lady Natasha really liked looking at herself. A long table held countless jugs of every description: silver inlaid with rubies, gold, carved mahogany, painted china. I knew every single one of them held blood. Musicians played in one corner, the soft notes of harp and piano and violin drifting around us.
Lady Natasha’s courtiers were easy to recognize— they all wore raven feathers in their hair. The rest kept their allegiances more subtle; I didn’t know the meanings behind most of the pendants and embroidered family crests. I didn’t see London or anyone else from the Drake family. I did see yards of velvet and silk embroidered with gold thread, brocade gowns, elaborate wigs. I wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if Marie Antoinette strolled by. They drifted and lolled and reclined gracefully on chaises and piles of cushions.
Solange was carried up to a dais draped with red sari fabric. In the middle was a glass bier on which she was stretched out. Her hand fell over the side and lay there limply. There were roses all around her. A raven flew down from a crevice in the ceiling and perched patiently at Solange’s feet. Another raven landed, and another.
Soon she was surrounded by huge black birds, all watching her expectantly. The old-fashioned grandfather clock read nearly midnight. When it rang its twelfth chime Solange would have to wake up then and there.
Or not at all.
“Welcome, welcome,” Lady Natasha called from her white throne. We were herded toward her. She wore a white gown with sequined silk over her panniers. Her pale straight hair fell to her elbows, and on her head she wore a medieval horned crown hung with sheer veils that draped to the floor. She dripped diamonds; they were around her neck, wrists, fingers, and even around her ankles beneath the sway of her bell skirt. Hope sat next to her in an evening gown and high-heeled sandals.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get much more surreal, Lady Natasha clapped her hands regally.
“Let the celebrations begin.”
The crowd broke off into couples in the wide space of the hall, and they whirled in a waltz as the music swelled. They wore medieval dresses, Norse aprons, Tudor whale-boned corsets, Victorian dancing slippers, pin- striped suits from the 1920s, dashing pirate shirts, and velour frock coats. They circled in a kaleidoscope of colors and fabrics until the sheer press of them started to make me dizzy.
Solange lay still; even her chest was frozen, suspended in the bloodchange. Her lips went purple, as if they were bruised. The blue of her veins traced under her parchment skin, like rivers through a winter landscape.
“Her lips are turning blue,” I whispered to Nicholas. He nodded grimly.
“She hasn’t much time.”
I’d never felt so helpless in my life. I could only stand there in the elegant ballroom inside the mountain and watch my best friend struggle not to die. She moved once, jerking as if electricity fired through her. Kieran took one step forward and was roughly shoved backward by one of the guards. Lady Natasha’s laugh was light and pretty.
“Soon all this will be over,” she said, preening.
“Sooner than you think.”
CHAPTER 27
Lucy
We whirled, recognizing the voice. Liam stood in a white cloud, wearing silver nose plugs. He pointed to three guards rushing at him with axes.
“Sleep.”
They crumpled, axes clattering to the ground.
Hypnos.
“You,” Lady Natasha sneered. “You’re too late. Your precious daughter has nearly slipped away completely. My throne is safe, this kingdom is safe.”
“Let’s see, shall we?” Helena asked, her swords flashing, her black braid hanging neatly down her back. Her sons flooded in behind them, joined by Hart and his agents. I’d never seen so many nose plugs and so much black army gear in my whole life.
The waltzing courtiers turned to a more violent dance. The music was drowned out by the sounds of swords clashing. The tribes chose their sides, and the Drakes and Helios weren’t nearly as outnumbered as I’d feared. The Araksaka convened around Lady Natasha— all but Conan. I did what he’d suggested earlier, and I stayed down. In fact, I crawled on my hands and knees through broken crockery toward the bier. The ravens stayed by Solange, cawing viciously. When one bent his head, about to poke into her eye, I picked up a crystal shard and whipped it at him. He squawked and flew off , offended, in a flurry of feathers. I wished I had my crossbow.
Helena was tumbling like some deranged acrobat, flinging knives and stakes as she went. She left a trail of dust and ash behind her. Helios agents scattered like beetles, blowing Hypnos to clear the vampires out of their way. It was like Sleeping Beauty’s castle—ladies in fine dresses and gentlemen in complicated cravats all dropping to the Persian rugs, asleep. Crystal vases tumbled off tables; wooden chairs splintered under impact.
Hart’s agents ignored Natasha’s courtiers once they fell, preferring to attack Hope’s rogue unit. Blood splattered the stones, stained the tapestries.
Liam strode toward the bier, his grim eyes never leaving his fading daughter. He took out three vampires without moving his glance away even once. One of Hope’s men flew backward after a vicious punch, face bruising before he even hit the wall.
“Girlfriend?” I blinked at him. He thought of me as his girlfriend? Then I shoved the guard back, before anyone could see me blushing. “I mean, get off of me.” The hall was beautiful, crowded with candles and lanterns hanging from the ceiling and even more mirrors everywhere. Apparently Lady Natasha really liked looking at herself. A long table held countless jugs of every description: silver inlaid with rubies, gold, carved mahogany, painted china. I knew every single one of them held blood. Musicians played in one corner, the soft notes of harp and piano and violin drifting around us.
Lady Natasha’s courtiers were easy to recognize— they all wore raven feathers in their hair. The rest kept their allegiances more subtle; I didn’t know the meanings behind most of the pendants and embroidered family crests. I didn’t see London or anyone else from the Drake family. I did see yards of velvet and silk embroidered with gold thread, brocade gowns, elaborate wigs. I wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if Marie Antoinette strolled by. They drifted and lolled and reclined gracefully on chaises and piles of cushions.
Solange was carried up to a dais draped with red sari fabric. In the middle was a glass bier on which she was stretched out. Her hand fell over the side and lay there limply. There were roses all around her. A raven flew down from a crevice in the ceiling and perched patiently at Solange’s feet. Another raven landed, and another.
Soon she was surrounded by huge black birds, all watching her expectantly. The old-fashioned grandfather clock read nearly midnight. When it rang its twelfth chime Solange would have to wake up then and there.
Or not at all.
“Welcome, welcome,” Lady Natasha called from her white throne. We were herded toward her. She wore a white gown with sequined silk over her panniers. Her pale straight hair fell to her elbows, and on her head she wore a medieval horned crown hung with sheer veils that draped to the floor. She dripped diamonds; they were around her neck, wrists, fingers, and even around her ankles beneath the sway of her bell skirt. Hope sat next to her in an evening gown and high-heeled sandals.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get much more surreal, Lady Natasha clapped her hands regally.
“Let the celebrations begin.”
The crowd broke off into couples in the wide space of the hall, and they whirled in a waltz as the music swelled. They wore medieval dresses, Norse aprons, Tudor whale-boned corsets, Victorian dancing slippers, pin- striped suits from the 1920s, dashing pirate shirts, and velour frock coats. They circled in a kaleidoscope of colors and fabrics until the sheer press of them started to make me dizzy.
Solange lay still; even her chest was frozen, suspended in the bloodchange. Her lips went purple, as if they were bruised. The blue of her veins traced under her parchment skin, like rivers through a winter landscape.
“Her lips are turning blue,” I whispered to Nicholas. He nodded grimly.
“She hasn’t much time.”
I’d never felt so helpless in my life. I could only stand there in the elegant ballroom inside the mountain and watch my best friend struggle not to die. She moved once, jerking as if electricity fired through her. Kieran took one step forward and was roughly shoved backward by one of the guards. Lady Natasha’s laugh was light and pretty.
“Soon all this will be over,” she said, preening.
“Sooner than you think.”
CHAPTER 27
Lucy
We whirled, recognizing the voice. Liam stood in a white cloud, wearing silver nose plugs. He pointed to three guards rushing at him with axes.
“Sleep.”
They crumpled, axes clattering to the ground.
Hypnos.
“You,” Lady Natasha sneered. “You’re too late. Your precious daughter has nearly slipped away completely. My throne is safe, this kingdom is safe.”
“Let’s see, shall we?” Helena asked, her swords flashing, her black braid hanging neatly down her back. Her sons flooded in behind them, joined by Hart and his agents. I’d never seen so many nose plugs and so much black army gear in my whole life.
The waltzing courtiers turned to a more violent dance. The music was drowned out by the sounds of swords clashing. The tribes chose their sides, and the Drakes and Helios weren’t nearly as outnumbered as I’d feared. The Araksaka convened around Lady Natasha— all but Conan. I did what he’d suggested earlier, and I stayed down. In fact, I crawled on my hands and knees through broken crockery toward the bier. The ravens stayed by Solange, cawing viciously. When one bent his head, about to poke into her eye, I picked up a crystal shard and whipped it at him. He squawked and flew off , offended, in a flurry of feathers. I wished I had my crossbow.
Helena was tumbling like some deranged acrobat, flinging knives and stakes as she went. She left a trail of dust and ash behind her. Helios agents scattered like beetles, blowing Hypnos to clear the vampires out of their way. It was like Sleeping Beauty’s castle—ladies in fine dresses and gentlemen in complicated cravats all dropping to the Persian rugs, asleep. Crystal vases tumbled off tables; wooden chairs splintered under impact.
Hart’s agents ignored Natasha’s courtiers once they fell, preferring to attack Hope’s rogue unit. Blood splattered the stones, stained the tapestries.
Liam strode toward the bier, his grim eyes never leaving his fading daughter. He took out three vampires without moving his glance away even once. One of Hope’s men flew backward after a vicious punch, face bruising before he even hit the wall.
