Page 15 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
Just then a woman appeared in the doorway. Old wrinkles carved her face, and although she was dressed in a nice enough gown, she ducked her head in submission. Despite the satin scarf about her neck, her human scent flooded Aryana’s nostrils. “You called for me, Your Majesty?”
“Yes,” Aryana’s mother said. “It is time for me to feed.”
The woman was her mother’s human giver. A few vampires had one person that they fed from most or all of the time. Sometimes the relationships were based on consent. Most of the time they weren’t.
The woman, Enela, bowed. “As you wish.”
Her mother merely nodded and turned, but then paused and spun back to Aryana. “You mean more to me than anything. You’re aware of that, aren’t you, bonnet?”
Aryana held in a derisive laugh, schooling her face into a passive expression. “Of course, Mama.”
And with that, her mother nodded again and headed from the room to go and feed on her human.
The reality was, Aryana had deserved her beating. She hadn’t proved her loyalty. She’d been silly, foolish, letting compassion cloud her judgment, making her forget the one most important thing. Love was conditional. Love was selfish. Love was never strong enough to usurp the need for personal gain. Love was weak. Aryana deserved every bruise, so she didn’t understand why she resented her mother’s lack of involvement, or her pointless admissions of caring.
After tending to her wounds and sneaking down to the dungeons, where her uncle constantly kept humans to slake her thirst, she crept along the castle’s dark hallways. The moment of solitude calmed her tumultuous thoughts, and she reveled in it. Most of the vampires at this hour were outside the castle hunting or on the upper floors or in their rooms, sharing special intimate moments. And she was alone, breathing in the ancient stones’ silence that enveloped her as a familiar friend in the stillness.
She moved past uncle’s bedchamber and paused to hear raised voices.
“You told her he was a traitor,” her mother’s voice snapped. Aryana froze. She’d never heard her mother use such a tone with her uncle before.
“Like all the others,” Uncle replied.
“Yes, and like all the others, this one wasn’t. You simply wanted him dead so his father would learn his lesson and stop opposing you at court. Or did you think like the one before that he and I were—”
“Enough.”
Aryana’s breath sped up as betrayal sliced through her, hot and thick.
“Your paranoia is out of control,” her mother said, “and you can’t keep taking it out on Aryana.”
Uncle wasn’t having Aryana kill traitors. He was having her kill whomever he wanted for his own political gain. He'd turned her into his own personal assassin.
“You don’t love me. You aren’t loyal enough to this kingdom. You are weak. Remember your father…”
“I am the king,” Uncle threatened, his voice low. “I’ll do what I want. You keep that pretty mouth shut or you know the consequences—” He cut himself off as he inhaled sharply. “Who is there? Aryana?”
Rage seared into Aryana to hear him threaten her mother, and she almost shoved into the room. But her pain and bewilderment had her spinning around and racing down the hall away from the doorway, tears burning in her eyes. How could Uncle hurt her in that way? Treat her that way? Use her that way?
She ran down the steps of the castle, grabbing one of the many cloaks that waited at the front entrance before speeding out across the cobblestone, out into the night, and into the deep darkness of the woods.
The world came crashing back around Aryana. She gasped for breath at the memory, at her racing heart, at the harsh ache of betrayal and rage that stolethrough her.
Zarathos sat at the now paused spinning wheel. He stared at her, something unreadable flickering across his face. Her finger was still on the needle. Blood pooled on the floor. A lot of it. How long had they been at it?
“Did you see that?” she whispered, for the first time afraid that he had witnessed such a vulnerable moment.
Jumping up, he turned from her. “We’re done,” he said coldly. He unhooked the needle from the spinning wheel and tucked it in his cloak.
“Did we finish?” she asked, slightly panicked.
Without meeting her gaze, he gestured at the gold strands coiled around five full spindles laying on the floor. The straw in the room was completely used up. “As promised.” He stalked toward the shadows. “I’m sure the king will demand a repeat of such a performance. Make certain he understands you can only perform such a deed in solitude. I shall return tomorrow at nightfall.”
And with that, darkness gathered around him, and he vanished.
Chapter 6
Aryana
