Before Midnight (21 page)
Blood Prince Series
Golden Stair
Preview of ONE BITE, sequel to BEFORE MIDNIGHT
Chapter 1
“A collection of blood. How…disgusting.”
Irina wrinkled her nose at the bitter, coppery scent and replaced the cork on the vial she’d taken from one of the many racks in the secret wall cabinet. She put it back among the neatly labeled glass tubes, each one bearing a name and a species.
“I don’t want to know how she got all of this,” Irina muttered. Crossing her arms, she glared at the cabinet, searching each container for any sign of her name.
There
. She plucked the vial of her blood off the rack and stalked to the window.
As she threw open the sash, a gust of frigid winter wind swept into the room. She gritted her teeth as papers flew off the giant oak table behind her and glasses rattled precariously. Popping the cork, she tilted the vial and watched with satisfaction as her blood poured out into the snow on the window sill.
“No more Irina blood for you.” She slammed the window shut and whirled around. The sight of the papers scattered all over the floor made her roll her eyes, but for now she turned her attention to finding a liquid to replace her blood in the tiny ampoule.
Her stepmother’s study loomed around her. Bookcases stretched hundreds of feet up the magically enhanced walls, each one filled to bursting with texts that hummed with power. The sorceress’s giant alchemist’s table was strewn with enough beakers and colored glass bottles that it should have made even the heavy wooden legs of oak collapse under the weight. Candles of every shape, size, and color burned merrily despite the blast of cold air she’d so recently unleashed on them. Irina resisted the urge to kick an intricate copper stand holding a large, maroon pillar candle to the floor. It would serve the sorceress right if she just burned the whole palace down.
“I used a lot of blood to make that candle and I’ll be very cross with you if you kick it over.”
Irina spun around. Her stepmother, Serafina Shevchenko, stood in the doorway to her study, bright black eyes shining in amusement as she contemplated Irina. The green gown she wore was ringed at the sleeves and hem with pure white fur and her collar rose ridiculously high so that it framed her entire head. She filled up much more of the doorway than she should have and for the hundredth time, Irina wondered if the sorceress was using magic to appear more intimidating than she was.
If she is, it’s a waste of magic.
“You’re snooping around my study again, child. I thought we’d discussed that?”
Irina pressed her lips into a thin line and straightened her spine. She held her head high and tried to set her stepmother on fire with just her glare.
It might work someday.
Serafina lowered her gaze to the vial Irina still held in her hand. “Tsk, tsk, little one. You’ve gone and spilled your lovely blood.” She sighed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to refill it now.”
Before Irina could move, her stepmother appeared at her side, Irina’s hand held in an agonizing grip. Irina hissed as a sharp black claw erupted from one of her stepmother’s fingers and pierced her thumb. Her blood trickled in a thick wave into the vial, filling it up in the blink of an eye, as if the glass itself was drinking from her. A shiver ran up Irina’s spine.
Serafina thrust Irina to the side and corked the vial. “You know, Irina, if you continue to make a nuisance of yourself, we’re going to have to go back to locking you in the coffin.”
Irina’s blood ran cold. Without her permission, her gaze dragged itself to the corner of the study to the spot where she knew the glass coffin rested just under a secret trapdoor. Memories of nights spent locked in the confines of the enchanted glass deathtrap rose like screeching banshees in her mind and she swallowed a scream. She held her breath until she was sure she could breathe without shuddering.
“Oh, but then where would you sleep, Stepmother?” she asked, forcing a sickly sweet tone into her voice despite the terror trying to crawl out of her throat. “I would hate for you to sleep in a plain old bed without the magic of your lovely coffin.” She let her contempt fill her eyes as she forced herself to meet her stepmother’s amused gaze. “After all, it just wouldn’t do for you to wake up looking like the nasty old hag you are.”
In a flash, the smile fell from Serafina’s face. Her black eyes burned with a fearsome dance of flame, her entire body trembling with an unholy rage. For a split second, Irina thought she’d finally gone too far. She braced herself, wanting to die on her feet without giving the sorceress the satisfaction of showing how frightened she really was.
A second later, the fury was gone. Her stepmother tilted her head, no trace of fire left in her eyes, and the smile back on her lips. “Oh, Irina. Someday I will kill you.” She sauntered across the room and began gathering papers from the floor and shuffling them into piles. “Now, I have work to do. Be a darling and go to your room before I ask the
domovoi
to drag you there.”
Irina steeled her nerves, refusing to look around to see if the
domovoi
had appeared at the sound of his name. The house demon generally didn’t do more than clean, but Irina had seen her stepmother twist males of every species to do her bidding and she didn’t want to test the
domovoi’s
loyalty to his mistress.
Sweeping out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster, Irina fought the urge to stomp all the way to her room. Her hatred for the sorceress the Fates had deemed fit to be her stepmother filled her chest with fire until it burned to breathe. One of these days she would find the key to bring about Serafina’s death. One day.
The door to her room hit the wall with enough force to rattle the thick wood. Just for good measure, Irina slammed it closed too. She hoped it gave Serafina a splitting headache. Like it had done to her.
Irina cursed and rubbed her temples. She dragged herself over to the window and thrust the pane of glass out as far as she could, sucking in a deep breath of the winter air. The cold raised goose bumps all over her skin, even under the thick long sleeves of her winter dress. The deep blue velvet couldn’t keep out the icy wind that she so casually invited into her room with the open window. Raising her eyes to the pale early morning skies, Irina opened her mouth and began to sing.
The notes were so rich, so powerful, that Irina imagined she could see them in the air, mixing with the wind and dancing in the light. She sang until the winds grew gentler and the tension eased from her muscles. Every note brought her a little more peace and sent a pleasant warmth over her skin. In the protective cocoon of her song, Irina could relax.
When the last note faded in the air, Irina closed her eyes, relishing her newfound peace.
“That was beautiful, Irina. What a gift you have.”
Irina opened her eyes and turned to smile at the
vila
hovering in the air beside her window. The ghostly woman smiled back as her long white cloak floated around her. The winds that were hers to summon slid through her long hair, twirling the white locks in the gentle breeze.
“Thank you for the lovely compliment,” Irina acknowledged.
The
vila’s
smile widened. “Thank you for the cakes you left for me and my sisters. Even our most devoted people rarely leave such a bounty.”
Irina waved off the thanks. “I love to cook and I’ll be damned if I’m going to feed the sorceress. I’m only too happy to pass the food on to those who appreciate it.”
A frown marred the
vila’s
beautiful face. “Irina, I have to warn you. Your stepmother plans your death.”
“I’m aware of that. I have been since she killed my father.”
A lump rose in Irina’s throat and she turned away from the
vila
, struggling to regain her composure. Serafina had killed her father years ago, when Irina had been just a child. Still, the pain was as fresh today as it had been then. Perhaps more so with the weight of all her failed revenge attempts.
The
vila
kindly gave her time to collect herself, waiting until Irina turned back to her to begin speaking again.
“Irina—”
“Irina.”
The male voice drew Irina’s attention even as the
vila
flew away. She smiled when she saw the huntsman standing in her doorway. The older man towered like a giant pine tree, his wild brown hair only just starting to grey at the temples. The green tunic and plain brown pants he wore only added to the tree imagery. His weathered face, usually creased in a smile, was fraught with tension. Irina frowned.
“Viktor, what’s wrong? You seem sad.”
Irina stepped forward, wanting to offer some sort of comfort. Viktor was the one aspect of this palace that made her life bearable. Despite her initial distrust of him, based solely on the fact that he was her stepmother’s huntsman, the man had quickly earned her respect. Every day he came to take her on a walk and as they ventured through the woods and over the land, he told her about the different people and creatures that lived there. He spoke of each one with a deep reverence. It reminded her so much of her father, and Irina knew that it was largely due to the two men’s influence that she had so much respect for every culture, and why she could go anywhere and find a friend.
Viktor offered her a weak smile. “I am fine,
rybka
, truly. Are you ready for our walk?”
Irina frowned, still concerned over the huntsman’s strange demeanor. He was fidgeting, his hand dancing at his side in a restless movement that was not at all like him. Unease slithered down Irina’s spine.
“I am ready,” she said slowly. “Just let me grab my cloak.”
She walked to her closet and removed the heavy fur-lined wool cloak. After fastening it securely around her shoulders and sliding her arms through the long, wide sleeves, she offered Viktor a tentative smile. He nodded and she followed him out of the castle.
The drawbridge lowered without a sound, kept forever well-oiled by the
domovoi
. Irina held onto the huntsman’s arm as they crossed, unable to keep from looking into the water that surrounded her stepmother’s home. Underneath the water, a slide of silvery scales sent ripples over the water.
The huntsman raised a hand and unsheathed his knife. Before he could make a cut on his finger, Irina grasped his arm.
“Please, let me.”
Viktor furrowed his eyebrows as she raised a hand and let the sleeve of her cloak fall down. The wound on her thumb, courtesy of Serafina, stood out like a tiny red mouth. She pinched the tip and blood welled up. Irina held her hand over the water and let a drop of blood fall into the lake.
A shiver rumbled under the surface, frothing the water where her blood had dripped into the moat. The silvery shape moved away from them, vanishing back into the dark depths.
“You cut yourself?”
Irina sucked on the wound before letting the cool air soothe it. “Serafina wanted my blood for her collection. There was no sense in you offering the monster your blood when my injury was already fresh.”
She couldn’t help glancing at the water when she said that. The monster was a creation of her stepmother’s. It demanded a small offering of blood for anyone to cross the bridge. A brilliant guardian, since anyone who caught a glimpse of the creature would do everything in his power to avoid spilling blood into the water. Only those who didn’t know the rule for entry would be eaten.
Viktor glanced behind them. Irina kept walking, frowning at her injury until the blood stopped trickling out and she could tuck it back into her sleeve without smearing it on her cloak. She turned to say something to Viktor only to realize he wasn’t walking with her.
“Viktor?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. Her eyebrows furrowed when she saw the huntsman standing still in the snow, staring back at the lake. She retraced her steps to stand beside him, following his stare.
Thanks to the thick spell Serafina had woven over the castle, all that met her eyes was a lake. The dark grey water was unmarred by a bridge or a castle, a powerful hesitation spell that Serafina used to keep anyone from stumbling upon her home. To get in, you had to know it was there to begin with. One misstep and you’d end up in the brackish water, a screaming feast for the monster swimming in the dark depths.
“Viktor,” she repeated, her voice softer this time. “What is wrong?”
The huntsman swallowed hard, but didn’t answer her. Instead, he turned and offered a weak smile before proceeding along their usual route.
“I spoke to a
leshii
the other day,” he spoke up finally. “It seems you’ve won over several of their people.” He fiddled with the leather bag by his side. “They are talking of breaking their treaty with Serafina.”
Irina perked up. “Really? That’s wonderful.” She stared ahead, the wheels spinning in her mind. “If the
leshii
break their treaty, others will follow. Serafina’s hold over the territory will be weakened.”
“She has the right to rule this territory, a right granted by the royal family themselves.”