Mark of Betrayal (Dark Secrets #3)

Mark of Betrayal (Dark Secrets #3) Page 42

But things were winding down. From what I could tell, we had about two or three cases left to deal with—then I could rest for a few hours before the ball.

When the Lilithian stepped back into the crowd, Walter stood up from his House table to my left and wandered forward, flipping pages in his notepad. “Your Majesty, Queen Amara, I present Derek Hill, of the Lower House.”

I smiled at Derek, who bowed, smiling back as he stood; he had an eager kind of grin—small eyes, bright with intelligence and what I read as a lust for life—proverbially—not the kind he usually lusted after, being that he was a vampire. My stomach growled.

“Your Majesty, first of all, congratulations on this special day.”

“Thank you, Derek.” I gave a soft nod. “And, what can I do for you today?”

“I am here to address the new laws of Vampire Sets.”

“Go on.”

“We are thrilled with the recent decision that those under your rule are free from their Set, but were unclear on a few of the restrictions.”

“Okay, what did you want to know?”

“Several of my people wish to partake in career paths which may lead to one being widely noticed.”

“Like famous?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

I looked over at Morgaine. She did warn me that simply allowing vampires to be under my rule without issuing guidelines would be a bad idea. But I never thought of anything like fame. I guess I just assumed free meant free.

“Declined,” Walter said, without even looking up.

“Now, hang on a sec.” I stood up. “Why?”

“Queen Amara, you know the reasons we have the laws we do. Even when Lilith ruled, this restriction applied to Lilithians also, not just vampires. We must not be a spectacle in the public eye.”

“Why, because we don't age?”

“That, and people may study us too closely, come to conclusions about what we are.”

“Walter, were you not in the Queen’s Navy—when Lilith ruled?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, but—”

“Then you were well-known?”

“Yes, but it differs greatly to one seeking world fame in modern society.”

“Right. Okay, so…” I looked back at Derek. “What kinds of careers are we talking?”

“I have two bands and an aspiring actor.”

“Denied,” Walter said, without giving the man any further chance to speak.

“Stop saying that.” I stomped my foot.

“My queen, not only is it unsafe, as it may expose us to the human world, but we have skills and experience far beyond that of a human,” Walter reasoned. “What right do we have to take rolls they could otherwise occupy?”

“By giving music to the world?” My brow arched. “Walter, what right do we have to keep music from anybody, just because we may be better than someone else? Music—any area of creativity and self-expression should belong to everyone—vampires, humans, Lilithians—whoever. It’s a gift.”

“And what about in twenty years when this famous person has not aged?” Margret said.

“With the advances in medical science now, no one would really notice,” I said.

“Well, that's not the point, Your Majesty. We stick to tradition.” Walter sat down.

“Well, I don't like it.” I sat down, too. “What does everyone else here think?”

The crowd looked among themselves, shrugging, their eyes a little wide.

“Someone speak up,” I said. “Should vampires and Lilithians be allowed to follow careers of passion, which would lead to fame?”

A hand shot up in the back of the room. “I think so, Your Majesty.”

“As do I,” another said, and it seemed to be unified. Mainly only really ancient vampires or Lilithians disapproved.

I looked at Arthur, who didn't seem to have an opinion either way. I wished he did, because I’d have ruled based on what he thought. I even gave a little nod, with wider eyes, prompting his guidance, but he just smiled apologetically.

“What kinds of music?” I finally looked back at Derek.

He glanced over his shoulder at a group of young guys, who nodded eagerly at him. “Alternative and rock.”

And I was sold.

To my right, Eric sat beside Emily, grinning widely at the vampires behind Derek. I wondered if they were in his band or if maybe he just knew them.

“So, you want to write original songs?” I looked directly at the bands.

When ushered forward, one guy stepped up and bowed quickly. “We already have, Majesty—we’ve been writing for about twenty years. But we’ve just been working the cover scene, you know, since we aren’t allowed to get noticed.”

I took a deep breath. I wanted to say yes, I really did, but Walter and the rest of the House would surely skin me if I did. Except, it wasn’t fair; none of the Ancients played music—not one from the House could even play piano. They just didn't have the passion, didn't understand the burn it caused inside you—what it took to write a song and want to share that with the world. And if someone told me I could never live that dream, just because I was bitten and turned into a vampire, I think I’d shut myself in a coffin for the rest of eternity—because that's what it would feel like anyway.

Eric gave me a reassuring smile, and the excitement in his eyes set the words to my mouth before I saw them shape in my brain. “Granted,” I said.

Walter stood, a few people gasped, but it was buried under the loud rejoicing of the major population.

Derek bowed lowly and said, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“You're welcome.” I turned my head to catch Eric’s eye for a second. “But you all know how to keep yourselves in check. Don't make what you are obvious and don't do anything stupid, or I will revoke your rights. Got it?”

The boys in the bands all nodded, bowing then nodding again.

“Okay. Next on the list, Walter?”

He was pissed, I could tell. But it was kind of okay, and this queen duties thing was actually pretty fun—well, most of it.

“Your Majesty, I present case number—” he looked at his notepad, “—sixty five; Mr. Hamilton and Miss Crane.”

“Hello.” I nodded to them; they both bowed nervously.

“Your Majesty.” The man knelt before me, his hand on his heart. “I am in love with this girl, and I wish to marry her. But her sister, a twin, was recently granted rights to become a vampire, by the former king. Only…” He looked back at the girl. “She didn't have the gene.”

I tensed, remembering the day I discovered that same fact about myself; the girl held back tears, standing tall and strong.

“And what would you like to do about that?” I asked.

“With your permission, Majesty, we seek the right to live together—to…to be together while she remain human.”

Everyone gasped.

“You understand there are reasons this has not been allowed in the past—unless under very special circumstances?”

“I do, Your Majesty.” He bowed lower, tension resting on his shoulders like a heavy load. “But I…I love her, and I can't risk losing her.”

“Have you ever thought of, perhaps, changing her into a Lilithian?”

He looked up at me. “No, Your Majesty, I hadn’t. I didn't know that was a possibility.”

“Things have changed around here,” I said and stood up, taking a few steps to stand before the man. “To your feet.”

He slowly got up, arching his back to keep his head lower than mine. How terribly old fashioned. But I understood, thanks to all my lectures from the Officials, that this was how it had to be, silly or not.

“It’s dangerous, as her bite can put you in a coma—” I smiled over my shoulder at my Private Council, wishing we could spread word about immunity. “But, knowing this, would you want that life for her? She will be forced to feed through a slit in a willing vampire’s vein—she can never bite,” I said.

He looked up at me, his eyes bright with a smile. “Yes, my queen, that would be fine—for the sake of eternity together, I would do anything—even feed her myself.”

Behind him, the girl’s eyes glittered with hope. I didn't even need to ask if she wanted this or not.

“Good. Then I approve.” I looked over at Morgaine, half noticing the man step back and take his girlfriend’s hand. “Morg, can you see this happens for them, please?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” She bowed her head. “I’ll turn her myself.”

“Very well,” I said. “Then it is done.”

“Thank you, Queen Amara.” His voice almost broke. “I am your eternal servant.”

I kind of laughed. “No need for that. But, if ever you feel the need to extend your family, please do consider adopting one of the Immortal Damned. We’re hoping to have them ready for society within a few months, and we’re looking, pre-emptively, for families to care for them.”

The man’s grey eyes became wider and he shook his head, bowing at the same time. “Of course, Your Majesty. We…we’d be only too happy to.”

“Great.” I smiled out across the crowded room, finally happy to be queen.

Given that the knighting ceremony was supposed to be next week, I’d brushed off the ‘Rising of the Knights’ speech, figuring I’d learn it after the coronation. I stood behind the curtain of my throne, Court finished for the day, knees shaking, knowing I would make a fool of myself when I walked out there in front of five hundred people, words lost in the back of my throat, and let out only a small squeak. They say preparation is confidence, but I was so not prepared.

When Walter announced me, I thrust my shoulders back, tilted my chin to the sky and stepped out from the curtain. Every breath, with every step I took, sounded like it was exhaled right into a microphone. I could hear everything around me; the heartbeats of my people, the silent worry of my council, the throat clearing of the old vampires, and the foot tapping of eager subjects in the back row.

I stopped with my toes just on the edge of the top step, and my eyes washed across the crowd—tightly packed into the court, lining the walls, leaving one clear isle of red carpet where the knights would walk in a few moments. And a proverbial furry cat climbed into my throat and ate my tongue.

After a tense pause, I inhaled a deep, shaky breath of nerves and held it, closing my eyes. The words of my speech rolled across my eyelids, and my mind flashed to the memory of the day Mike delivered this same speech to the knights—when they were still human. He stood so tall in front of the hundreds, as if they were a small group of friends—confident, comfortable in his own skin. “For generations,” he’d said, “the Lilithian knights have survived in secrecy; trained by night, kept underground, unknown to exist. We have been few and ineffective. Now, with the rising of a new queen, we too have clambered from the ashes of insignificance. We will become strong, impenetrable—a force to be reckoned with.”

And listening in my head to his words, my own part of the speech came to mind. “The legend of the knights began with the first Created Lilithian,” I started, my voice clear, unwavering. “Queen Lilith, whose source of nourishment saw the deaths of many vampires, discovered that her brother sought to imprison her and take the throne. Knowing the creation of vampires to be possible from a bite, she attempted the same on a human man named Lancelot.

“The transformation turned this meagre mortal into a powerful being, giving him the ability, like Lilith, to end the life of a vampire. An army was created, and after pledging their creed upon the Stone of Truth, the Guardians of the Pure became known to all as,” —pause for effect— “Lilithian Knights.”

The crowd cheered; the energy in the room had a different feel now—almost like the last day of school before summer break.

“And now,” I continued over the noise. “Rising from the ashes of a long forgotten tradition, is a new era of guardians. Five men will be sworn in; five men have taken their oath. On their honour, on their blood, they will serve with their lives—protect queen and country—Lilithians, Vampires and Humans—united.”

The roar of elation spread further this time; those at the back of the room wildly applauding; their thunderous calls infecting the hundreds outside who came today—all of them to see the new Lilithian revolution begin.

I moved away from the lip of the step and sat in my throne, quite satisfied that, even with an exhausted brain and shaking knees, I still managed to remember the whole speech.

A gentle, quiet calm blew in like a breeze, and the Court came to a standstill. In one, sweeping movement, all heads turned to the back of the room—watching, waiting.

Walter banged a giant brass stick three times, and the glass doors parted. My eyes adjusted to the warm yellow glow of the afternoon that entered, making silhouettes of five figures. As they marched forward, the anticipation beating in my heart made my blood run warm, and the silhouettes sharpened into men before my eyes. My knights. They looked like nineteenth-century officers of the Queen’s Navy, in uniforms of white—with long, double breasted jackets and ropes hanging across their chests, which I knew were special kinds of rope—earned by doing some act.

“Love the new get up, Em,” I whispered.

“I know.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Wait ‘til you see Mike.”

The five men turned to one as they filed into a line and marched down the centre of the aisle. Blade came first; his head held high, his face straight—for once—one arm by his side and the other resting over the hilt of his sword. I just wanted to leap out of my seat and jump around, telling them all how great they looked.