Page 61 of Heir of Blood and Moonlight

Wes was here. He wasn’t alive, but he was with me. And that was all that really mattered.

37

Iwalk barefoot downa dank underground corridor, an incessant dripping punctuating my steps. The rough stone floor is damp beneath my feet. The odor of unwashed bodies marks the air, accented by the foul stench of old blood and fresh bodily waste.

Someone coughs, and my head swings to the right. Steel bars block a doorway. A prison cell. A woman stands at the bars, barely visible in the deep shadows, but I can tell she’s dirty and emaciated.

She extends her skinny arm between the bars and points to the end of the corridor. “He bleeds for us,” she says, her voice scratchy, like it hasn’t been used in a very long time.

I want to stop and speak to her, to help her, but something pulls me onward. She watches me pass with haunted, knowing eyes.

The next cells are like echoes of the first. More gaunt women. Though they don’t look any different from humans, my gut tells me they’re queens. Each stands at the bars and points towardthe end of the corridor. “He bleeds,” they say, their voices forming an unsettling chorus. “He bleeds for us.”

I follow their direction, my pace slowing as I reach the bars of the cell door at the end. A tiny square window high in the wall lets in silver moonlight, illuminating the interior of this cell better than the others. A large man lies on a bedroll on the floor on the left side of the cell, curled on his side facing the rough stone wall. He wears jeans but no shirt, and the silver sigils covering his dark skin are marred by splotches of dried blood.

“Thane,” I whisper, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even move. “Thane,” I say louder.

“Save your effort,” a man says, his voice rough and scratchy. He sits hunched in the far corner of the cell, untouched by the moonlight. Long, stringy dark hair hangs around his face, and his glowing sigils are barely visible through all the dried blood and grime on his skin. “Your friend has lost too much blood,” the prisoner says. “He won’t rouse for anything but an open vein.”

Suddenly, a dagger is in my hand. I press the edge of the blade to the inside of my forearm.

“I wouldn’t,” the prisoner says, standing. He’s thin, just as wasted as the women, but taller than I had expected. “Unless you want to die.”

Steps slow and feet dragging, the prisoner approaches the bars. He wears a dingy blanket around his shoulders like a cloak.

The moonlight finally touches his face, and my heart skips a beat. “Javier?” I drop the dagger and grip the bars, pulling myself as close to the interior of the cell as I can get.

He stops at the bars and reaches a hand through to caress the side of my face with the backs of his knuckles. “You can’t save us all.”

Liquid licks at my heels, and I look down to see dark, thick blood oozing around my feet. I spin around and look at the other cells. The women all lie on the floor, four long cuts like claw marks running up the inside of their extended arms, their open veins pouring blood out onto the floor.

I startled awake, my eyelids snapping open as I sucked in a breath. My heart hammered, and a cold sweat dampened my skin. Beside me, Bastian lay with his back to me, soft snores marking each of his languid inhales. The first light of early dawn leaked in through the half-drawn curtains.

I sat up and pushed the covers off my clammy skin. The dream had been too real, like I had really been there in that dungeon. It had to be a prophecy. But what did it mean? Could I interpret it literally? Was Javier being held in the dungeon with Thane? Were all those queens there as well? Or was it more symbolic, simply telling me they were all prisoners of the House of the Sun, but not necessarily being held in the same place?

I scooted to the edge of the bed and stood, needing movement to help me think. I retrieved my robe, which lay draped across the corner of the bed, and slipped the silky fabric over my arms, then tied the belt with a loose knot around my waist.

With one last look at Bastian’s slumbering form, I left the bedroom and crossed the sitting room to the door to the hallway. I didn’t know the first thing about interpreting prophetic dreams. I needed the advice of someone who did.

I headed up the hallway toward the stairs at the heart of the house, but when I reached the landing, rather than descending to the foyer, I walked along the second-floor gallery toward the tall pair of double doors blocking entrance to the sealed-off east wing. A large, intricate circular sigil glowed in the center of the doors.

I stopped in front of the doors and tried the handle, but it refused to turn. Assuming the sigil was a locking ward, I pressedmy hand to the center of the design. The mark glowed brighter around my fingers, and then the lines of the ward shifted, untwining and pulling apart, until the once unified symbol formed two complex crescent moons, one on either door.

Taking a deep breath, I reached for the handle to the right side door. It gave without resistance, and I pulled the door open, stepping into a hallway that had haunted my nightmares for three decades.

Weak predawn light filtered in through the stained glass window displaying the phases of the moon at the far end of the corridor. A single door broke up the left side wall, the High Queen’s quarters, while the half-dozen doors on the right led to the remaining royal suites. I paused at the door to my old suite and traced the carvings in the wood with a wandering fingertip.

I couldn’t help but feel the weight of my newfound responsibilities settling on my shoulders. I was the High Queen now, the last hope for my people. The fate of an entire species rested in my inexperienced hands, and that realization was terrifying.

For so long, I had been running from my past, from my true identity. I had convinced myself that I could live a normal life, blend in with the humans, and forget about the world I had left behind. But now, standing here in the place where it all began, I realized how foolish that notion had been.

My mother had sacrificed her life to give me a chance at survival, and Javier had risked everything to keep me safe. Now, it was my turn to step up, to embrace my powers and my role as a High Queen of the House of the Moon.

I pulled my hand back and moved farther down the hallway. A sigil similar to the one locking this wing glowed on the door to the High Queen’s quarters. Another lock. I pressed my palm to the center of the design, and once again, the sigil glowed brighterbefore separating to form two crescent moons. There was the faintest sound of a lock clicking open.

Placing my hand on the doorknob, I twisted it and pushed the door open. The gray light of early morning poured in through the rectangular stained glass skylight, the only window in the sitting room. Sheets had been draped over the furnishings and bookcases, making the room feel like it was slumbering.

Doors on either side of the room led to hallways, which in turn, led to what I now knew were the private rooms belonging to the members of the High Queen’s harem. Another door in the wall straight ahead, this one sealed with a trio of sigils more complex than those I had just broken, led to the High Queen’s study, and through it, to her bedroom.

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