Vampire Elite (64 page)

Erec calculated for a moment and then wrote a number:
95
.

Zlata scribbled some more.
Ultimatum?? “Free Keepers or we kill 95 BBs”—Incl. Odji, Riona, ...

After reading what she’d written, Erec pointed at her and then mouthed
You going to kill Odji?

She nodded, trying to look like she meant it. Honestly, she had no idea whether she’d be able to go through with it when the time came.

Erec had written a reply:
We’ll discuss & let you know.
 

The mirror fogged up again, obscuring the Amiti in the mirror, and when it cleared, Zlata could see only her own reflection, her eyes wide and frightened, her skin wan.
 

* * *

Erec closed the connection with Zlata and dropped onto the couch. Reaching over to the side table, he picked up a lit candle and held it in his hands, his eyes transfixed on the flame. “Thoughts?”

“It won’t work.” Kassi sat down next to him and also stared at the candle flame. “They’ll sacrifice the ninety-five of those, no matter who they are—and actually the number’s a lot lower; you counted Serena’s, but she can’t burn hers. We’ll just waste the reserve we’ve been building up for decades. There’s no way they’ll let the Keepers and the Queen go. Really, guys,” she said, her serious gaze moving to Erec and then Lex, “it will not work.”

“I don’t believe that our Queen will be that easy to kill. She’s too powerful.” Crossing his legs, Lex sat on the floor facing the couch.
 

“They keep her drained, though.” Erec held his hand above the candle’s flame so that it touched his skin, turning his hand to expose different areas, sinking into the pain. It was Amitis’ ritualistic gesture, a way to reconnect with and acknowledge the pain their people were going through. “We need to send her more power. All of us. Every Amiti we can summon must come together, combine our energies, and send them to Arianna.”

They worked all night to contact all the Amiti they could find, calling all who were able to come to Brussels. Most Amiti would have to travel via ordinary means, so they wouldn’t have time unless they were already close by, but elders with highly developed powers could transport themselves through mirrors. It would be the first time they’d used Mirror Skill to bring their people together in almost twenty-two years; the last time had involved summoning everyone to Greece for Istara’s execution. This time, the reason was again the Queen, but the goal was quite the opposite.
 

They chose a secluded space, an old, empty mansion Lex had spotted a few days earlier in the suburbs of Brussels. Surrounded by vast, landscaped grounds behind a locked gate, the property was on the market and its owners had already moved out, making it ideal for the ritual they were planning. They didn’t even need to provide their own mirror: there was already a huge one affixed to a wall in the entry hall, and they used it to open the portal.
 

They had to begin the ritual about an hour before sunrise, and by then they’d managed to locate almost sixty Amiti elders and a handful of younger Amiti. The rain had stopped for the time being, so they held the ritual outside, gathering in a circle among the centuries-old oak trees behind the house.
 

Erec lit a thick black candle, and after touching the flame to the center of his palm handed it to the woman standing next to him. She repeated the gesture, keeping the candle at her palm a little longer than Eric had, and then passed it to the man at her left, who did the same. At the same time, Kassi, Lex, and four other Amiti elders, who stood evenly spaced around the circle, had each lit their own candles and begun the same process, holding the flame to their palms and then passing the candles to their neighbors. After all seven candles—seven being the sacred number of Hathor—had circled the whole group and returned to the one who lit them, they were set down in the wet grass, and the Amiti tightened the circle, taking each other’s hands.

Almost immediately, the wind picked up, blowing out all seven candles in a single gust and then growing stronger and stronger as it circulated among them. As it continued to build, bending and breaking the branches of the oak trees, the area it covered grew, too, reaching wider and higher. The cloud cover over Brussels began to seethe and swirl, shifting until it formed a spiral over the Amiti, waiting to collect the energy they were gathering.

When the force of the power the Amiti were generating reached its apex, as one they all released and raised their hands, sending the energy out into the atmosphere. Everything went quiet and still.

Quiet as before a massive thunderstorm.

Chapter 83

Anock stood at the window watching the fading night sky. He’d been staring like this for hours, praying that the sun would never rise. And nature seemed to be responding to his entreaties: huge, dark-violet clouds were billowing across the sky, writhing and coiling into a spiral like at the birth of a tornado. It was totally anomalous weather for Europe—and it created the illusion that the sun was refusing to rise. Was it a message from the Goddess? Was Sekhmet, the Goddess of the Sun, trying to tell them that she would not condone what was about to happen down below, in the basement of this building?
 

“Anock,” called Blade from the doorway. “The preparations are complete.”
 

Numbly Anock turned and followed Blade to the elevator that would take them to the chamber of Sekhmet.
 

The Guardians’ chamber was constructed of large grey stones that had been fit together to form a huge dome. Sections of the stones’ surface had been smoothly sanded and etched with ancient Egyptian reliefs strategically highlighted by the dozens of torches positioned around the chamber. In the center, the black marble statue of the Lioness Goddess rose twenty feet above them.
 

The execution was to be a closed event. Only the Royal pride, the Guardians, and the hunters—at Crian’s insistence—were permitted to be present. There was too much risk involved to allow others to witness it. The present guest list was plenty, and besides, Anock thought, it seemed somehow ...
distasteful
to turn it into a spectator event. The death of the Keepers would be announced at a gala ceremony to be held at the mansion. That would be fanfare enough.

Most of the Guardians, some hunters, and Crian and Etain were already there when Anock arrived. But where the hell was the Royal pride? Surely they’d know that he expected at least a representative member to be here? But there’d been no communication whatsoever; he didn’t even know whether to wait for them or not. Anock hated them for doing this to him. He was in a hurry now, wanting only to end this torturous process. Irritated, he texted Theores—
are u guys coming
?—and got a terse
just go ahead.
 

Fuck. Anock took his seat at the oversized red velvet chair that stood like a throne on the elevated stage facing the statue of the Goddess. It was where the King would normally sit, but in Tor’s absence, Anock, as his second in command, would take his place. Fuck.
 

The executioners were in position: two of them, wearing black hoods, stood to the right and left of the idol of Sekhmet, the muscles of their bare, massive chests and arms gleaming in the torchlight.
 

“You may begin,” Anock said, not hearing his own voice. “The Queen goes first.”

Two of his warriors disappeared behind the massive door and returned with Arianna. They’d skipped her last bleeding to leave her with just enough energy for her final trial, and it was astonishing how quickly her beauty had returned. The last time Anock had seen her, she might as well have been a corpse; today, she was paler then usual, but exquisite again.

Despite her weakness, she walked steadily, her back straight and her head held high, staring straight ahead with dry eyes. She wore a floor-length, multi-layered gown of black chiffon. The layers floated and whispered, flowing like liquid as she walked. Anock had personally chosen her gown; he couldn’t stand the thought of her dying in the bloodstock uniform. She should die with honor, as befitted a Queen. The gown was a token of his respect for her.

A bolt of pain shot through Anock. It was incomprehensible that this young, perfect body designed for love, life, and joy, would be destroyed in just a few moments. Her mystical goddess’s eyes would close forever and her lips would never smile again. She’d be reduced to a handful of ashes.
 

And what would happen to her spirit? Was there an afterlife? Having an immortal lifespan, he’d given little thought to whether he believed in what was supposed to happen afterward. As far as he’d been concerned, that kind of thinking was for frail-bodied humans; naturally, anyone with that short a life expectancy would find the idea of permanent death unbearable. But now Anock longed to believe that death was not the end, just the transition to another plane of existence. He wanted Arianna to go to her Goddess and be loved by her. Maybe one day Tor would join her and they could finally be happy together, basking in their love. Maybe.
 

Anock kicked the thought out. Tor was immortal; he wasn’t going anywhere.
 

Please Goddess, let it be over soon.
Anock’s pain was becoming unbearable, his self-control wearing thin, and he feared that his façade of disinterest was about to crumble. His vision grew blurry, his eyes stinging, and it took all his strength to remain still and simply observe.
Sekhmet, let me trade places with her
. If only he could.
 

* * *

Arianna glanced at one of the hooded males, her eyes traveling to the huge, heavy sword in his grip. Glowing with the reflection of the torches, the blade seemed to be alive, but cold and apathetic. It had nothing to do with her, and yet it promised to deliver her a deathblow. It was just the blade’s job, the same as for the hooded male. He also had nothing personal against her; he’d just sever her head and go have lunch with his friends.
 

It was so surreal how mundane her death would be. Twenty-two years of dreams and aspirations, joy and despair, pleasure and pain, love and hatred, efforts to understand herself and the world—and all these would end in a fraction of a second. A freezing fear crawled up her spine like a poisonous snake.
 

She lifted her eyes to Sekhmet’s.
Please, Goddess—Grandmother—give me the strength and courage to get through this.
 

A flare burst through Arianna, as though a charge of energy had been projected from the Lioness’s heart into hers. She stared at the idol, trying to determine what had just happened. Had it just been a hallucination, or was the Goddess really supporting her? The Lioness’s dead, unseeing eyes gazed back, straight into her soul. Arianna’s breath began slowing and her heartbeat steadied. She’d asked for help from the warrior Goddess, and it had been granted: Sekhmet had tapped into the warrior spirit inside her.
 

Now she was ready to face her executioner. She regarded him without blinking, proud to claim victory over her fears. As if from a long distance away, she heard the reading of the charges against her and the executioner asking her to kneel before the Goddess. Raising the hem of her gown, she obeyed.
Hold on. You can get through this. It’ll be fast. Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing any weakness.

* * *

Suddenly, the door opened and Tor burst into the chamber, with Theores, Leon, and Rune at his heels, looking anxious and disheveled. The rushed decision and late arrival were totally out of character for Tor—but, Anock supposed, nothing was out of character for him right now, given the agony he was going through.
 

Everyone dropped to one knee to greet the King. Tor gave them a quick nod of acknowledgement and made his way to Anock.

Anock rose to his feet. “I’m sorry, Sir—Your Majesty—we didn’t expect you. Please, have a seat.”
 

“I don’t need one.” Tor’s normally stormy grey eyes were lighter and softer. He put his hands on Anock’s shoulders. “Anock, I trust you to go through with the established plan.”
 

“Of course, your majesty.” Anock’s intuition was hollering into both his ears that something was wrong. Why would the King come here only to reiterate that Anock should follow the plan? Hadn’t Anock been doing that?

“Anock. My son.” Tor pulled him closer and looked deep into his eyes, his gaze so intense that Anock could actually feel Tor’s love pouring into him, saturating even the darkest corners of his soul. “I also ask you not to interfere with whatever happens.”

Anock stared at Tor, puzzled.
 

“Give me your word, Anock.”
 

Anock’s brain was pounding with danger signals. But it was Tor making the request, so whatever the problem was, it wasn’t as if Anock would have a choice about whether to do as he said. “You have it, Sir.”

“Thank you, Anock.” Tor hugged him tightly and then added softly, “I love you, my son.”

He turned around and walked over to Arianna, who was watching him transfixed, still on her knees in front of the statue of Sekhmet. For a moment Tor just stood before her, his gaze locked on hers, and then unexpectedly he dropped to his knees and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her to his chest, burying her head under his chin. She jerked and pulled back, her eyes flaring open.
 

* * *

Arianna had thought she was already dead. She had lost all perception of her body. Tor’s appearance at her execution was beyond comprehension. She wanted to shove him away, to hate him, but at his touch, all her hostility melted away, his embrace like fire melting the heart she’d worked so hard to freeze. She was assaulted by the emotions swirling through her, propelling her to heaven and smashing her back to hell as if she was dying and being reborn over and over again.

And then everything grew still, and she felt as if she were suspended in eternity. The revelation dawned on her: her life was worth living for this moment alone. In a state of utter paralysis, she was unable to speak, think, cry ... she could barely breathe. The universe had come to an abrupt halt and ceased to exist; the only reality that remained was this man holding her in his arms.