Autumn Rose: A Dark Heroine Novel (43 page)

My eyebrows knitted together. “Why? Just tell me.”

He placed the hand that was stroking my hair on my shoulder and rolled me fully onto my back, before placing it on the other side of my body. “Do you trust me?”

I could see his sky-blue eyes becoming tinged with red, and they scrutinized me while my skin heated up under the intensity. “Yes,” I managed to breathe.

Slowly, he rolled over so his knees were straddling my thighs, arms locked straight, hovering a few inches above me.

“Tell me if anybody, including me, ever says or does anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay?”

I nodded as he pressed his lips to mine. My heartbeat was speeding up, lips parting wider and wider as what had begun as an innocent peck became something more urgent, more ardent. My arms reached up and around his neck, my legs parted and one tucked itself up toward my torso; the gulf between his forefinger and thumb secured itself around the underside of my knee, and held me there.

“Autumn, your eyes are red.”

Suddenly, I felt fire creeping across the thread dangling between me and Violet, fizzing and hissing like a fuse. Her mind had opened up like a book that had flipped open and whose pages were flapping in a breeze. She was alive again, really alive, and in the second my eyelids closed to blink I had been assaulted with images of her in a half-unbuttoned shirt beneath Kaspar Varn. I felt like I was tumbling in her mind and wrapped in her desire, bathed in her warped love for this man and the security that their tied bond provided. Fallon’s weight above me grew heavier, and I was sure that if I opened my eyes it would not be a blond who was draped across me.

By the time my eyes had opened again to find Fallon there, it had become obvious that in that moment, there had been no partition between Violet and me. We were not separate entities; we had been one. But why?
Fate, why give us gifts and no answers?

Hands fumbled with the buttons of my blouse, undoing them one by one. His warm fingers and the cool air raised goose bumps and I closed my eyes.

He kissed the plain above my breasts. He kissed me again, lower, and lower.

Far away came a whisper. “Sweet, Girly. So sweet.”

Autumn

C
rossing the threshold into the chamber of the interdimensional council was like walking down the aisle at my wedding.

The night before, all injunctions had been lifted and the media had exploded with images of me and Fallon as our relationship was announced as “official” for the first time.

Outside the crescent-shaped building a sky-blue carpet had been laid, and along its length, from the road where council members dismounted their horses to the wooden doors, journalists jostled, fighting for a position where they could press their stomachs into the enchanted barriers and thrust cameras and microphones into the channel through which all had to pass.

“Lady Heroine! Over here! For
Arn Etas
!”

“Lady Heroine, are the rumors true that Prince Fallon was secretly living in Devon in order to be with you?”

“Lady Heroine, this is your first official appearance since the funeral of the late duchess. How are you coping with her legacy?”

I smiled and pouted on command, turned and spun and shook hands, played the part of somebody walking a carpet that should be red. It was dazzling, it was glamorous, flashes bouncing off the pale golden stone of the chamber and catching my dress of the same hue. But it was a fishbowl.

Eventually they released me and I continued inside, flanked by Edmund and Jo. The moment my foot trod upon the brass plate that marked the threshold, my heart gave in to a tremor, and I was suddenly terrified. This was the largest council meeting I had attended yet, and it was a gathering of the entire interdimensional council, and it was about Violet Lee. Withering, wilting Violet Lee.

Why do I have to be here? Why?!

We passed ushers waiting with tall golden staffs to which banners were attached—eleven: one for each dimension, one for the humans, and another for me. Violet’s was absent. The breeze from the open doors was making each banner sway, sending a draft billowing down the scaffold tunnel of gold through which we were walking. My hair stirred, the loose strands lifting from the back of my neck and those that were pinned threatening to shake themselves from their pins.

Edmund anticipated my stumble before I even knew I was going to momentarily halt. His hand cupped my elbow and firmly ensured my progress forward and not right back under the banners, where the hopeful part of my heart was running.

“I can’t do it,” I muttered. “I can’t.”

“You have no choice.”

He pulled me into the room and Jo dutifully dropped back behind me.

I stifled a gasp. I had never seen a room like it.

The passage in the middle was long and lined with benches, upholstered with the same shade of pale blue as the carpet outside. Every so often there were armrests, gilded with gold, and in front a thin table ran, just wide enough to place a book. The benches ascended in rows, and around the walls ran a gallery full of yet more seating. The ceiling far above us was painted to resemble the sky on a bright day and the whole place was flooded with light filtered through stained-glass windows.

Along the curved wall, raised above the pew-like seating, was a row of high-backed wooden chairs, made comfortable with cushions rather than leather. There were about thirty of them in total, and in them sat the heads of state for each dimension and being: monarchs, regal and isolated; presidents and their deputies, rearranging their notes and still finding their seats; even an entire small council from the third dimension. Royal families, remaining inner councillors, prime ministers, religious figures, and the scribes were assembled in the seating below them. The lower benches were packed with their contingent.

I paused at a stand containing a closed copy of the Terra and swore an oath while Jo kept hold of my hat. Then I ascended the steps to the high-backed chairs and took my place at the far end, so far along the curved wall that the king of Athenea sat sideways to me. Jo took her place on the bench below me, next to Alfie and Fallon, whose arm reached back so I could take his hand.

He gave me a reassuring squeeze. The instant our hands made contact, the cameras that whirled around of their own accord high above us descended uncomfortably close, and our tender moment was suddenly broadcast to millions.

Beside me Edmund growled loudly, and the cameras skittered away from us like startled animals.

The benches were almost entirely full, just the last few humans filling up those in the middle, and a microphone zipped down from its lofty position to come to a rest in front of the Athenean king.

His welcome and introduction were long and the preamble even more tedious, and I let my mind drift.

It was an incredible spot to people-watch from. I could see everyone I knew: from the Athenean family below me to Lisbeth in the Sagean benches, now one of my ladies-in-waiting and sitting with her parents, a small frown on her face as she listened to the king. Directly opposite were the vampires, the enemy; the assailants the chamber would soon attack.
Because who else could possibly be to blame for Violet Lee’s depression? Where else could be the root of this withered tree?
It was not me. No one would blame me, bearer of bad news. The awaker. The
ilaea.

I wondered, wildly, what it would be like to not have the state of one’s mind disclosed to the world. How it would be if confidentiality meant something exclusive, not
me, you, and all the council.
What it would be like to lean forward and wrap my arms around Fallon’s shoulders and inhale his fresh scent without making the front page of the paper. It seemed ludicrous.

I thought those things as the king went through the list of Violet’s illnesses; it puzzled me how a public forum was going to remedy any of them.

Eventually, Eaglen wearily got to his feet and I dragged my mind back to the room. He shuffled a few papers on the table in front of him and looked up like he was announcing a death sentence.

“I have, as a humble servant of my king and a seer of fate, been tasked with the unenviable task of deciphering the powers of our young Heroines. I have but few conclusions and can only present the facts and hypotheses. Firstly, and I can confirm this after witnessing her seeing both the late Queen Carmen and her deceased brother, it should be known that Violet Lee is displaying all the signs of being a necromancer.”

The silent room exploded with noise and the cameras buzzed excitedly, capturing the shock.

A bolt of horror shot from my heart to my stomach. My gaze rose from where I had been staring at the floor to meet Eaglen’s, whose eyes were enlarged. He held my gaze, as though trying to transmit an apology.

“Secondly, it should be known that the two Heroines share a connection that defies the limitations of telepathy . . . that is, they share emotions, memories, and experiences without barriers and without consent.”

My cheeks were hot and flushed and I felt like a fire had been lit in my chest. Leaning forward, I stared at the kings of the first and second dimensions, searching for surprise or remorse. Both refused to meet my eyes, and watched their subjects with set resolution.
How dare they? How could they?! It is dangerous for people to know about this!

“Lastly, it should be known that I have belief that the Lady Heroine Autumn Rose is developing the powers of a conventional seer alongside those used to awaken the Heroines. The reason for such an accumulation of gifts remains as yet unclear, and my recommendation is we leave them to develop naturally. I can do no more. This is known to be the truth.” He finished with the traditional closing of a speech, his voice fluttering away to a murmur. He slumped, defeated, into his seat.

It took a lot of clenching of fists and a rude word from Edmund to keep myself seated. I had heard about the backstabbing of the Inter, but
this
? Revealing our powers to the whole world! It was stupid.

I narrowed my eyes at the king of Athenea as he stood up.
I thought you were my ally.
“Thank you, Eaglen. Now we shall hear from the doctor in charge of Violet Lee’s care . . .”

It was excruciating. Just one long exposé of how she would not drink blood unless manhandled and forced. And then the blame game began.

“Surely it is the responsibility of Athenea, as the host and protector of this young Heroine, to ensure her recovery from this unfortunate bout of insanity?” The speaker was a Sage himself, a councillor I had never seen, let alone spoken to.

The vamperic king didn’t move a muscle but snapped a reply. “As talented as your court healers are, they don’t
drink blood.
This is problematic when trying to understand the nuances of the mind of a newly turned vampire.”

“Nuances you have clearly failed to cater to, Your Majesty,” snapped the new wife of the shifter king. “You bulldozed her into submission!”

The vampire contingent stirred, and the Athan and guards stationed around the room’s perimeter matched the uneasy shift in temperament, warily looking around and tensing.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from one of the benches directly below me.

“I have words to say on this matter, if it pleases Your Majesty.”

Princess Joanna, Fallon’s older sister and one of those who had gone to save Violet from the vampires when the Varns had found out about her father, had risen from her seat and patiently waited for Ll’iriad’s permission to continue. She looked calm and comfortable, even with such a formidable and volatile audience. He nodded his permission.

“As an ambassador for my kingdom, I spent two weeks in the second dimension, before and after the turning. What I saw pained me, but I refuse to be silenced. The Lady Heroine Violet Lee has been subject to severe emotional and physical abuse from which she is unlikely to recover, at the hands of those who claim to care for her, human and vampire. At the hands of a kingdom and people we now harbor!
This,
” the young princess said, half turning to her father, “is known to be the truth.”

Michael Lee threw himself to his feet. “You accuse me of abuse against my own daughter!” I had never seen the man up close—the Athan wouldn’t let him near me, and I was surprised that he had even been allowed to attend the council—but I thought his eyes looked black, and they bored into Joanna like he was trying to burn a hole right through her. She stared back, defiant.

“If you want an abuser, look no farther than that scum.” He pointed a finger at Kaspar Varn, who was already being visibly restrained by another vampire of a similar age who was much more tanned than any other fanged dark being present. “My daughter has Stockholm syndrome, from his torture! That’s what’s wrong with her!”

“Of course you’d believe that! You will never accept our relationship!” Kaspar yelled across the room, not bothering to wait for a microphone to be passed down to him.

The Athenean king wisely sprang up to his feet. “There are serious criminal accusations being made, and it is not the purpose of this council—”

“You cannot, in any case, accuse the man tied to a Heroine of being her abuser! It’s ludicrous!” The vamperic king was on his feet, too; the two monarchs briefly glanced at one another, too quickly for me to catch their expressions.

“Of course, the immunity of the prince; an immunity that means he has never been prosecuted for the murder of my son!” I didn’t recognize the man wrapped in red, who had so abruptly joined the debate, but his words told me he could only be one person: Ilta Crimson’s father.

“Your son was the shit below a hunter’s boot!” Kaspar threw back. “He abused his power as a seer and assaulted Violet, I didn’t! And what about others? My sister and Lord Fabian Ariani, they bullied her, or her ex, Joel; everything I did was done with consent—”

“And you should hear the names Violet’s sister calls her!” Kaspar’s younger brother Cain added.