When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles #4)

When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles #4) Page 42

Shortly after the queen’s disappearance came the news that the king was to be delayed due to a torn piece of clothing, and after that, the rest of the coronation ceremony—though horribly long and boring in Victoria’s opinion—passed without incident.

Not until nearly three o’clock did the party move from the abbey to Westminster Hall, with the newly crowned king and his twenty-seven-foot train. The train was embroidered with gold thread, and the pages (real pages, not the prizefighters) who managed the long length of fabric kept it spread wide so that all of its glory could be admired.

The king tottered a bit when he at last left the abbey; sweat streamed down his face and he looked pallid and gray. However, Victoria knew that was not due to anything other than an excessive amount of fancy clothing— including unseasonable ermine fur—and an extremely long, hot day. The king of England was not a vampire.

Nor was he dead.

But Victoria was quite certain that he, and possibly others of his trusted advisors, were in great danger.

In the hall, three hundred people ate from long tables that traversed the length of the vast, high-ceilinged space. Victoria consumed little in her attempt to move about and keep her attention honed for any unusual happening. Still, it was daylight, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized that if anything else was planned, it would happen after the sun went down.

“When the sun goes down,” said a deep voice in her ear, almost an echo of her thoughts. Victoria nearly jumped and turned to find Max behind her. He still wore that hooded expression, and refused to meet her eyes. He seemed, instead, to be fascinated by her earlobe . . . or, more likely, something beyond her shoulder.

“Of course,” Victoria replied stiffly. “Lilith wasn’t foolish enough to think that the queen could enter the abbey, even if Caroline herself thought she could. I don’t believe for one minute that that was the extent of Lilith’s plan.”

“The king,” Max continued as if she hadn’t spoke, “should be leaving the hall shortly to return to Carleton House. The sun will just be setting. I suspect that will be the time we’ll need to be our most vigilant.”

“I’ve already come to that conclusion,” Victoria snapped, then realized he’d gone, slinking away into the crowd before she could reply. “We?” she added in the direction to which he’d disappeared.

She turned away and found herself face-to-face with Lady Melly, who wore a forbidding expression. “Where have you been?” she asked with a smile on her face and a bite to her voice. In fact, the pleasant smile necessitated that her teeth remained ground together, and the words came out rather . . . clenched. “I’ve hardly seen you since we sat for dinner, and you certainly didn’t attend us during the procession.”

“I told you, Mother, my slipper became soiled and I had to return home just before the procession started in order to change it. You wouldn’t have wanted me to attend the coronation with soiled slippers, would you?” Victoria lied blithely.

“Gwendolyn Starcasset has been looking all over for you,” added Lady Melly in a slightly mollified voice. “Do come and make your greeting to her so that she will stop prattling to me about her wedding plans. I daresay,” she continued over her shoulder as she started off, towing Victoria behind her, “it’s as if no one has ever married an earl before. And Brodebaugh isn’t all that is, but she certainly can say nothing but praise for him.”

Victoria allowed her mother to drag her through the crowds to their places at the long table. To her surprise, she found Sebastian present, with Gwendolyn and Brodebaugh. He appeared to be fully enjoying his meal, and Victoria realized how hungry she was, despite the bit of food she’d already had. It had been a long day, and, if she and Max were correct, it would be even longer before the night was through.

Thus convinced to ease on her vigilance for a time, Victoria sat next to Gwen and proceeded to field questions about where she’d been and what she thought of the ceremony . . . and had she seen Rockley?

Victoria could only answer in the negative, and instead turned the conversation back to her friend’s favorite topic: her nuptials, which were to take place in three days.

“I daresay, I’ve slept nary a wink, between plans for the coronation and my wedding,” Gwen said, smiling. Victoria thought her expression still looked a bit weary, and she wondered if all was well with Brodebaugh.

Or George. He and Sara were conspicuously absent.

But before she had a chance to ask Gwendolyn about any of them, she caught sight of Kritanu. He was in a balcony overlooking the diners, and he tended to stand out due to his darkly complected appearance. He seemed to be gesturing to her.

“Excuse me, Mother,” Victoria said, leaning toward Melly. “I thought I saw Rockley.” The excuse was guaranteedto justify her exit, and when Lady Melly’s face snapped toward the direction Victoria indicated, her daughter took the opportunity to escape.

Kritanu met Victoria and said, “The king is readying to leave.” She glanced toward the table where George IV sat, and her companion continued, “I heard the order given moments ago. I’ve managed to obtain a position as footman to one of the coaches in the procession.”

Victoria nodded. “Be safe,” she told him. “Do you know where Max is?”

“He’ll be there.” Kritanu disappeared in the crowd of people, leaving Victoria to try to catch Sebastian’s attention.

Outside of Westminster Hall, the sun had dipped to the edge of the horizon. As the king was climbing into his coach, the news came floating back to the bystanders: two overturned carriages had created a great accident, blocking the route by which the king usually drove to Carleton House.

He would have to take a different course, through the slums of Westminster.

Victoria caught Sebastian’s eye and nodded. This had to be it.

With Barth’s assistance, they obtained saddled horses and started off in the direction the king would be traveling, able to move faster and more easily than a coach and procession.

“We’ll get there first and scout out the area,” Victoria said to Kritanu as they rode past him and down a smaller side street so as to escape notice from the crowds. The sight of a lady riding astride—thanks to her split skirt— would cause just as much attention as the king’s cortege; possibly more.

Victoria hadn’t ridden astride in a saddle for years, and doing so immediately reminded her of Phillip. The summershe’d first met him, long before either were old enough to be thinking of marriage or courting, he’d been riding haphazardly through the meadows between their families’ adjoining estates. She’d met him when he fell from the horse and he received a scolding from her . . . and then, later, he promised to take her riding.

At any rate, Victoria was a confident enough horse-woman to make her way through the streets, although Sebastian was far ahead of her. Since the attention of those who were interested in such things was on the king’s path, the side streets were deserted of bystanders and the riders were able to move swiftly and attract little attention.

But when they arrived in the dirtiest, most dangerous part of Westminster, where the crowds had already formed in anticipation of their sovereign’s unprecedented trip down their streets, Victoria felt nothing out of place. No sign of undead, no prickling of the neck . . . nothing.

She and Sebastian traversed the streets, too high in their saddles for pickpockets, and not nearly interesting enough for other thieves in light of the coming procession. They heard shouts in the distance, behind them, heralding the approach of the royal cortege.

Just then, the sound of pounding horse hooves drew Victoria’s attention. She turned, and around the corner flew Max, barreling toward them on a large mount.

“The bridge!” he shouted, galloping past them.

Of course! The Thurgood Bridge, which spanned one of the canals. Old and dangerous, and in a particularly dark section at the edge of Westminster, the bridge stood near the end of the king’s route. It would be the perfect place for a royal catastrophe.

Victoria slammed her heels into her mount and raced off after Max, Sebastian thundering behind.

When they reached the bridge, the back of her neck iced over almost immediately. Dark shapes filtered beneath the rickety structure, which wheezed and creaked even when no one crossed on it. Tiny red orbs glowed in the night, mostly beneath the edges of the bridge.

It was a narrow span, just wide enough for a single vehicle. Built over a canal barely two wagon lengths wide, it was made of wooden trestles that created a web of dark beams above and below the bridge. The underpinnings cleared the canal’s flowing water by only a few feet. Brick buildings in various stages of disrepair staggered near the bridge and along the canal, looming like awkward shadows. They seemed to be converging on the narrow crossing, keeping it dark and close.

Max was already off his horse, and Victoria tore off the apronlike coverings to her skirt as Sebastian roared up and leaped off his own mount.

The vampires were taken by surprise by the sudden onslaught of stake-bearing Venators. Victoria clambered down the mucky slope at the side of the canal, feeling cold mud ooze into her slippers as she came face-to-face with an undead.

She kicked and caught the vampire in the chest, sending him falling back onto two others that had been climbing up the bank behind him. As they struggled to right themselves, she turned to another undead that had leaped down from the bridge. Her stake found its mark, and the female poofed into dust.

“Under the bridge,” she heard Sebastian shout, and turned to see him and Max disappear into the darkness under the span.

In the melee that followed, Victoria was barely aware of the hordes of undead; she focused only on staking and stabbing as she worked her way along the mucky bank toward the inky shadows under the bridge. Once she found her way there, even in the dark she could see what was intended. The undead were clambering up and around the trestles under the bridge, ready to swarm the rickety structure when the carriage crossed over. The span’s weakness would allow for the weight of only one vehicle at a time, leaving the king’s coach to cross without its guards.