Autumn Rose: A Dark Heroine Novel (29 page)

“Last night? I thought the Inter met at Varnley? Surely they didn’t . . . right under the noses of . . . well . . .
everyone
?”

“The meeting moved to Athenea in the evening. The human contingent refused to meet at Varnley and apparently King Vladimir didn’t want Violet Lee out
too
late,” Edmund filled in from behind us in such a dry tone that his disapproval was unmistakable.

“They took her out of Varnley?”

“The Inter ruled she be kept in the dark, remember?” Fallon retorted. “And they haven’t changed their minds on that. Moreover, my father hasn’t changed his mind. It was about the only thing anybody could agree on.”

He slumped against the arm of a basket chair in the conservatory and I stepped onto the terra-cotta floor to join him, well aware of his condemnation of this particular choice of the Inter’s. I was inclined to agree.
Being given the knowledge of our existence is the least Violet Lee deserves. And it could aid her choice on turning, too.

I found a comfortable nook in the plump back of a sofa and eyed both men. They were clearly exhausted—Fallon’s weight was making the chair slowly slide away from beneath him, and Edmund looked hungry enough to reach right down into the carefully regulated indoor koi pond and sample homemade sushi, despite his devout veganism.

“Look, just . . .” Fallon trailed off and opened his mind up, flooding it with images. He didn’t even bother to conjure a picturesque landscape. I slowly made my way among them. It took me fifteen minutes, but there was a lot to absorb. Like how Fallon had met the infamous Violet Lee, and admired her strength; touched her neck. How, with an emotion-clearing shake of my head, the entire Inter had been witness to Kaspar Varn’s outburst. How his father had roared upon learning of his latest bedfellow, forbidden them to touch. How he had sent his son to Romania, decided to punish Violet Lee by making her the sacrifice in their annual Ad Infinitum Ball.

Upon this image, I withdrew. This was not a good development. I had witnessed what the entire world would now learn of, but what I had seen had been something that could give us all hope: Violet Lee showing affection for a vampire. This wasn’t just him seducing her; she had willingly gone to bed with him, I was sure of it, and that meant she might consider turning.

I told Fallon and Edmund this.

Fallon seemed uninspired. “I don’t think we’ve got time to wait for her to fall in love with him.”

I stood a little straighter. “Why not?”

Edmund left the pond and stared straight at the prince. The latter shook his head. “She’s seen it already.” I folded my arms. “The meeting was called because the vamperic council suspects that Michael Lee has gained an excuse to essentially launch a war against the vampires in his daughter’s name.”

Hence the middle-of-the-night, three-hour (and, frankly, rude) warning everybody had been given of the meeting. Varnley were probably terrified. I raised an eyebrow. “And the excuse is . . .?”

“Prophecy. One of ours, to be precise.”

“Which one?”

Fallon threw his arms up in an exaggerated shrug with the same sudden burst of energy he had used to drag me in. “That’s what they hoped we could tell them.”

“There have been rumors about the Prophecy of the Heroines,” I prompted, otherwise drawing a blank.

Fallon shrugged.

“And it gets even worse,” Edmund sighed.

Fallon looked utterly surprised, like the idea of things getting worse was as ludicrous as that of a human girl being held political prisoner by creatures she had grown up thinking were mythical.

“I talked with the head guard at Varnley this morning. Kaspar Varn and Violet Lee were pursued by two slayers on their return, and there is reasonable evidence to suggest those two slayers were Giles Randa and Abria Pierre.”

I stopped leaning against the sofa. The slayers who had been with the Extermino! One look at Edmund’s face told me I was right.

But Fallon picked up on something more. “
Pierre?
” He said it with such venom that I felt the need to find support for my back again.

“Yes. Abria Pierre is the fifteen-year-old daughter of John Pierre and, since the killing of Claude Pierre in the Bloodbath, the next leader of the clan. She no doubt seeks revenge on the Varns for her brother’s death.” Edmund took a long breath to replenish the one he had expended in his, as always, thorough explanation. “More importantly, this signals that what we experienced at Kable was definitely no fluke. The slayers were not rebels who have joined the Extermino. They are the flesh of Pierre, and are involved in Lee’s efforts to get his daughter back. They answer, it seems, to more than one master now.”

“So it’s like a . . .” I searched around for some way of summarizing what I thought he was suggesting. “Interdimensional factional conspiracy?”

Edmund raised an eyebrow. “Catchy. That is exactly what it is. Pierre, chri’dom, Lee, the rogue vampires, and probably this shady Crimson family have united. United while we are weak, divided, and in crisis over Violet Lee.”

I wanted to tell him he was doing an extremely bad job of being a protective surrogate uncle at that moment. Putting all these worrying theories in my head was not going to help me organize a party effectively. Except they weren’t theories anymore. Someone in one of these breakaway groups had clearly discovered the maxim “the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” and was exploiting it.

Edmund, perhaps realizing that he had just horrified his two teenaged charges, hastily added: “But I can think of no more competent man to deal with this than your father, Fallon. He and your mother got us through two world wars, remember, and that’s just to mention the last century.”

Comparing
this
to world wars wasn’t exactly reassuring, either, and Fallon chose that moment to excuse himself for a few hours’ sleep.

Edmund did not move. Instead he placed his weight on one polished black loafer, folded his arms, and stared at me.

“You’re too young for what is happening. You won’t be able to deal with what is going to happen to you—to us.”

Before I could process those words, he was gone, fleeing down the long white corridor, lined with servants’ doors, back to the entrance hall.

“Edmund, come back! I demand you explain that statement!” I yelled in his wake. The entire staff in the kitchens could probably hear me through the doors, but I didn’t temper my anger. “If you are referring to my visions, I’ll—”

There was no point in continuing. He had disappeared. Instead, I turned back to the conservatory and had barely crossed the threshold when a waxy leaf belonging to a white lily, so vast and heavy its stem drooped to the floor, caught fire. Making surprisingly efficient tinder, the entire leaf was engulfed. The single white lily did not survive, either. I left the pile of ash I had created.

“Damn it, why won’t anybody explain anything to me?” I hissed.

Autumn

I
hugged Lisbeth as soon as she unzipped the polythene bag. She could not have picked out anything more perfect. Yet by the time I had the dress on, I was having doubts.

“It’s quite short,” I complained, tugging at the tiered hem that flared slightly from the hips, while the slip underneath somehow managed to stay firmly attached to my thigh, a little too high up.

“No shorter than anything the other girls will be wearing,” Lisbeth reminded me from her dressing table, where her magic finished off her makeup. I didn’t disagree with that. My phone had been vibrating constantly all afternoon, with multiple girls seeking reassurance about their wardrobe choices. “And you asked me to find something for tonight. I think it’s very you.”

She was right. It was boned and worked as well as any corset, pulling my waist in so there could be no doubt in anybody’s mind that I had anything but an hourglass figure, even at my age. It was entirely black and covered in a fine lace decorated with roses that overlapped the strapless top slightly, meaning I didn’t have to worry about that part too.

“And it will impress everyone. You look gorgeous!”

I slipped my feet into my black heels—the height of which would make Edmund very grumpy—and stared her down. I knew her game. She meant it would impress Fallon. She had been at it for two weeks.

Except I wasn’t quite sure I would impress. I had left my hair down and curly, but had smoothed and pinned back one side with a tiny, rose-adorned slide, revealing an ear, which he never liked. If I left it down, it would annoy me all evening.

“Stop playing with your hair.” Lisbeth came over and wrapped a large hand around my wrist, pulling it down and placing it over hers. Together we left her room to descend.

Waiting at the bottom were the two younger princes (the duke and duchess had gone out on a “date”), looking refreshed after their afternoon of rest, as if the previous day and night had never occurred. That was what we all wanted. To forget, for one night, what was happening.

Alfie, casual as ever, had opted for an open jacket and shirt with no tie, though he did have a deep blue handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket, which matched Lisbeth’s dress as though made from the same silk. He came forward and took both her hands in his before placing them on the dress panels resting on her hips, which had miraculously produced curves.

“You look wonderful,” he told her, making eye contact and refusing to break it until I crossed through his peripheral vision, heading for Fallon, who hung back. “You, too, Autumn,” he hastily added.

I allowed him a small smile, and then returned my attention to Fallon. In looks he might be the image of his cousin, but in style he could not be more different. His black loafers gleamed—freshly polished—and his black trousers and jacket were so clean and crisp they had the appearance of crushed velvet in the soft candlelight, streaming from the lanterns floating in midair above us. I had the urge to reach out and touch it, to check, but found I had moved close enough to see it was cotton. Between the lapels peeped a double-layer black-and-gray waistcoat, and around his collar, a bow tie.

I drank up these details in seconds and hastily searched for something to say, because once I had reached his hair, which he had done nothing whatsoever with, I became acutely aware he was drinking me in, too. “Every inch the host,” I settled on, smiling and parting my hands slightly, because what I really wanted to say was
you look incredible.

“You look . . .” He shook his head slightly and did not close his mouth, and then cocked one ear toward his shoulder. “I don’t have words.”

I smiled and stared at his shoes.

“I like this,” he murmured, reaching out and touching the clip in my hair. He pulled his hand back, smoothing a strand as he did. “I like your hair like this, Duchess.”

That was it. A cocoon in my stomach burst and from it fluttered butterflies, who found their way around my system in a heartbeat, and I was sure if I used my magic at that moment, I would accidentally burn the place down.

Instead, I was left with the urge to tie Alfie to a stake and burn him as he cleared his throat with a snort, utterly ruining the moment. Lisbeth thrust her elbow into his ribs. He didn’t even flinch.

It didn’t matter anyway. I could feel warmth approaching, the kind only humans could produce. Before I began to shut my mind down to the impending babble, Edmund wormed his way in.

“Autumn, your friends are at the south gate.”
I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. That meant they were in the lodge at the visitors gate, enduring security checks.
“Brace yourself. I think that Gwen girl has been pregaming.”

Fallon grimaced and Alfie laughed. “I’m looking forward to this.”

The next hour was pandemonium. Tammy and co. were first to arrive, but I barely had time to do more than nod encouragingly at their stunned expressions and shunt them into the ballroom. The guests did not stop arriving, and having been roped in as hostess, I found myself hitting repeat when explaining that the gorgeous, mirrored ballroom was based on the one in the Palace of Versailles, and had been the Athenea’s recent addition to the place. Most were left drooling at the lavishness.

It was nearing nine o’clock when I caught up with my friends. They were clumped together, too afraid to approach any of the boys and even more afraid when Lisbeth and Alfie came to introduce themselves. But when alone, they were perfectly chatty and extremely excitable; Edmund’s guess that Gwen had been pregaming was quite correct. They were drinking now, too—Buck’s Fizz—and were giggling at a waiter offering canapés (another thing that fascinated them). Fallon had, of course, hired outside caterers
from Athenea . . .
because unless they had clocked up ridiculous air miles, they simply weren’t good enough.

He had excused himself some minutes before to welcome the last guests, and I was just being bored by Gwen’s animated description of what she would like to do to the poor waiter (who was still within earshot) when she fell silent.

Somebody behind me cleared their throat. “
Sarlane, rafiki
.” Hello, friend.

I was so shocked to hear my tongue spoken in such an accent that it took me several seconds to turn around.

“Jo?”

We dived into each other’s arms without any more words and jumped up and down, squealing, until a second throat-clearing forced my feet to remain on the floor.

There, sure enough, he was.

“So’yea ar en manta t’ea rarn!”
I said to the prince, trying to tell him off but sounding more amused than angry.

He checked his smile and looked suitably admonished as I threw my hands to my hips, raising his hands in submission.

“I’ll go and fetch you some drinks; let you catch up.” He laughed and made his hasty retreat.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Jo’s mouth widened into a silent shriek. “Wow,” she cooed. “Wow, wow, wow,
the Athenea,
you’re with the Athenea! I’m with the Athenea!”

“I did notice.”

“No, but this is incredible. Prince Fallon got special permission for me to dimension-hop, you know. He must really like you! God, that’s the best way to travel; it beats a plane every time.”