I Am Forever (What Kills Me) (8 page)

On the other side vampires performed drills, shouting in unison as they pierced the air with their swords. Lucas watched them, his lips tight, the corners of his mouth slowly dragging down; every cry seemed to anger him more. I wondered what this reminded him of—his father? Training with his brother?

I wanted to reach out to him but the Empress was standing in between us.

At the crack of a whip the dozens of soldiers leaped off their posts or slid their weapons into scabbards. In seconds they stood at attention, the synchronized stomp of their boots echoing. They then dropped to their knees.

A burly vampire with a whip coiled around his body approached us. His stern brow jutted over his eyes, and his square nose looked like a wad of putty on his face. He met Lucas’s gaze briefly, spat on the ground, and looked away. I immediately disliked him.

“Your Highness,” he said in a coarse British accent. Clutching the handle of the whip, he pounded his fist against his chest.

“War Master,” she said.

“This battalion should be ready for operations in a fortnight.” With the wave of his paw the soldiers returned to training.

They’re preparing for war. How many of these soldiers will not return?

A young, shirtless vampire drew my attention: it was his lazy gait, his swagger, as if he had nowhere to be. No one walked like that in the Acropolis. He looked over. Our eyes met and a half smile climbed into his cheek.

He took a bucket of water and splashed the blood-stained ground.

His presence drew the attention of several soldiers. They nudged each other and drew their swords. Their expressions reminded me of wolves watching prey. The scene reminded me of those goons in Taiwan and the girl they’d tried to torment.

This isn’t good.

As the soldiers surrounded him, enclosing him in a circle, he waited, watching them warily. Without warning, one of the soldiers attacked him from behind and hacked at the back of his skull with a sword.

“Watch out!” I blurted.

The vampire turned around in time to slap the side of the blade and punch the soldier in the face. As the soldier lurched back, another ran into the center of the circle and leaped toward the vampire. The vampire slid on his knees, bending his head back so it was parallel to the ground, and the second soldier’s sword swiped an inch above his throat. He hit the soldier in the stomach, jumped up, and drove an uppercut into his face.

He then kicked up the empty bucket and punted it at an oncoming soldier. It split the soldier’s eyebrow, releasing a jet of blood. The young vampire’s leg hung in the air, hooked and poised to strike the next attacker.

The soldiers criss-crossed each other, repositioning themselves. One sprang forward and the vampire’s foot cracked his skull. As they chased him, chopping the air, he flipped backward.

There are too many of them. They’re going to kill him.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was running toward them. I pushed aside two soldiers as if I was parting curtains and they went flying into others like stray bowling pins. Surprised, the young vampire raised his hand as if to wave at me, and a soldier sliced a line from his shoulder to his navel.

Groaning, the vampire fell.

“Stop!” the war master hollered. The soldiers stepped back simultaneously and became motionless as if they were robots powering off.

“Are you all right?” I asked the injured vampire, who knelt before me like a man proposing. Looking down I noticed droplets of his blood dotting my bodice. He rose slowly, the deep laceration across his abs sealing shut. He ran a hand through his wavy brown hair and licked a red smear from his lips.

“Yes, my lady, thank you,” he said with a subtle Spanish accent. “Your concern honors me.”

“I know what it’s like to be ganged up on. All those soldiers against one unarmed vampire?”

“Hardly seems fair for them, does it?” he muttered under his breath.

This guy I like.

“My lady, they were performing a training exercise,” the war master explained, scowling at the vampire.

“The soldiers cannot leave the circle until they draw blood,” Lucas said.

“So they all take turns trying to stab him?” I asked, waiting for someone to disagree.

“My lady, that is the war page’s duty, to test their skill,” the war master said.

“The who?”

“The war page Santana,” the war master said.

I nicknamed him San in my head, and I extended my hand to him. “I’m Zee.”

I heard the Empress clear her throat, and from the corner of my eye I saw the war master rush toward the war page. San drew back.

“My lady,” the Empress said.

“Page,” the war master warned.

San considered the moment, perhaps trying to weigh who to offend, the war master or me.

“Page,” the war master said again. Without looking at his superior San bowed to me. Disappointed, I withdrew my hand.

“Come, my lady,” the Empress said. “Let us show you the opera house.”

The Empress turned to leave, and my guards stepped between me and San. As our parade headed out of the training area, I heard the war master snarl, “Don’t make me warn you twice ever again.”

I looked back and saw the war master yank the whip from his body. With a flick of his wrist he cracked it, tearing open San’s cheek and releasing a spray of blood.

My face hot, I shouldered through my guards and headed for the war master. His back was to me as he brought the whip up and snapped it again.

I snatched the braided length out of the air, pulling the leather taut like a tightrope between us. A blade shaped like an arrowhead dangled from the end. The war master’s jaw went slack.

“Don’t,” is all I said.

He dropped the whip and bowed. “My lady.”

San smirked, rivulets of blood running into his dimples, but he tempered his pleasure as the Empress approached.

“My lady?” she asked.

“I’ve seen enough violence today,” I said.

“Of course, my lady,” she said. “The war master will ensure there will be no blood shed in your presence.”

“Fine,” I replied. I tossed the weapon aside.

“My lady, you are most magnanimous,” the Empress said.

The war master retrieved his weapon like a sulking child, snatching it from the ground and wrapping it around his neck as if it was a scarf.

Did I get San in trouble by trying to protect him? Will they hurt him when I walk away?

“Will I see you again, San?” I said a little too cheerfully, to mask my nerves.

“Whenever you wish, my lady,” he said.

“There’s a ceremony tomorrow.” I turned to the Empress. “Will San be there?”

She paused. “If that is your wish, the war page will attend.”

San bowed, his brown eyes never leaving mine, and I smiled.

“You don’t think they’ll hurt him, do you?” I asked Lucas as we left.

“Why?” His reply was quick.

“I don’t want him further punished because of me.”

“Well, that’s exactly what they’re going to do.”

And his wounds will heal, so I won’t see his pain tomorrow.

My brain buzzed from our tour. For our last stop Uther brought Lucas and me to a waiting room for Dr. Femi.

I had seen so much and I wanted to talk about it. But Lucas was not in a talking mood.

We sat on a white leather couch together. The room, with its cream carpeting and tufted, cushy walls, felt lonely. Pavone had gotten me to change into a beaded blue dress with a stiff tulle skirt so that every time I shifted in my seat, it sounded like I was playing maracas. “I need to have a talk with Pavone. I look like a ballet-dancing Smurf.”

Lucas didn’t respond. He had not said a word since leaving the Aramatta’s training area. I wondered if he was offended by how coldly my guards and the war master had treated him, but it didn’t seem in his character to give a hoot.

“Or a puff of blueberry cotton candy.”

Silence.

“Lucas, are you okay?”

No reply.

“I know it sometimes seems as if I enjoy the sound of my own voice, but I like yours just as much. So please say something.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asked finally.

“Tell me what’s on your mind. What's bugging you?”

“This place,” he muttered. “These vampires.”

“Well, what about them?”

He shook his head.

“Lucas?”

He clucked his tongue. “I don’t really feel like talking, Zee. Do you mind if we just sit in silence?”

It was almost a plea. He looked down for a moment, his eyes unfocused, aimed at the coffee table, which was a glass box filled with roiling red liquid. His face was motionless, frozen, and sad. I immediately felt guilty.

I’m so self-centered. It must be overwhelming for him to be back here. The memories. The bad memories.

I reached over and put my hand on his forearm.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Of course. I won’t—”

Suddenly I heard a voice yelling over my own. It filled my brain, booming, terrifying. It was Noel’s voice. He was screaming. He was telling me to run.

“GO!”

With a cry I threw myself from the couch. Lucas gasped as the couch tipped back and he went with it. My shins hit the coffee table and I tripped.