Page 10 of The Hawk and the Nightingale

Varushka grinned, and Amalie realized her mistake. “Excellent idea, my pet. I’ll have you whipped, and then you need never suffer one of my soldiers.”

“No, my lady,” Amalie fell to her knees and clasped her hands in front of her heart. “Please, Varushka, I will do anything for you, but please don’t whip me.”

“You would rather feed my soldiers?” When Amalie didn’t answer, Varushka nodded to her guards. “Take off her dress, and march her to the front of the tent.”

And so Amalie was stripped and led through the mass of vampires to the whipping post at the front of the main tent. As she walked through the crowd the others raked their hands and gazes across her skin, with some even licking the trail of blood that dripped from her breast. When she reached the platform, Marek extended his hand.

“Really, songstress, you brought this upon yourself,” he said. She nodded, and didn’t flinch as he raised her arms high overhead, or as he tightened the rope around her wrists. Once he deemed her properly secure, Marek leaned close to her ear, and murmured, “If I take it too far, I may have to turn you. I’d hate to let you die, and never hear you sing again.”

“Do what you must, my lord.”

Marek raised the whip, and began lashing her back to the cheers of the crowd. He didn’t limit his punishment to her back, and the whip bit into her thighs and calves, and even her feet. As the crowd chanted for more carnage, more blood, Amalie felt her soul loosen from her body. She didn’t allow it to leave her body, even though she desperately wanted the pain to end. Instead, she began to plot her revenge.

Chapter Seven

Amalie - Prague, Present Day

Amalie walked home early the next morning, her shoes dangling from her hand as she enjoyed the sunlight on her skin. Despite her nocturnal nature she’d always enjoyed the sun. When Marek had first turned her, and her new immortal skin became too delicate to withstand the sun’s rays, she’d cried for days. He’d assured her that, in time, her skin would adjust and she would be able to walk in the daylight once again. It had taken decades, but it had come to pass. If only Marek had been as truthful about other things he’d told her.

A chill rolled down her spine, and she gathered Hawk’s coat close about her. Her mortal man had been so gracious as she was leaving, asking her to stay with him for the rest of the day or at least for breakfast, and offering her his coat when she declined both invitations. Truth be told she would love to spend a day or three in bed with him, but she had much to do. Her clan, and her shop, left her little free time.

Even though Amalie craved a hot bath and a few hours of sleep, she went to her shop before she returned to her home. She still had the garnet on her, and wanted to return it to the safety of the reinforced cabinet as soon as possible. When she approached the front door, she saw something black and shiny lying across the threshold. When she realized what it was, she swore.

It was a dead raven, Marek’s ham fisted yet effective calling card. She knew without checking the bird had been strangled; it was his preferred method of execution. He’d strangled her many times, just to prove he could. Amalie knelt next to the raven, and touched its feathers.

“I’m so sorry, little friend,” she said. “Fly free in the next world.”

Amalie withdrew her keys, intending to go inside and find a length of cloth to wrap up the bird, and found the door already unlocked. She dropped her keys into her pocket, and pushed the door open. The lights were off, but that didn’t matter. Her vision was excellent, as was her hearing, and neither were affected by darkness. As she scanned the front room of her shop, she heard movement near the ceiling. Amalie spun around to face the noise as Iveta dropped down from the rafters.

“What happened?” Amalie demanded.

“Two of Marek’s people came looking for you,” Iveta replied. “They’re dead.”

Amalie spied the spray of blood across Iveta’s breast and face. “Are you hurt?”

“This isn’t my blood,” Iveta scoffed. “Marek must be desperate. He sent younglings after me, and they didn’t last more than five minutes.”

“It was a test,” Amalie said. “He sent the most expendable people he had. When they don’t return by sunset, he’ll know you still guard me.”

“Was I supposed to let them live?”

“Of course not,” Amalie said. “You did the right thing, as you have always done. I, on the other hand, am a fool.” Amalie opened her coat, and revealed the garnet.

“You wore it when you went to see your mortal?” Iveta shook her head, and found a rag to wipe the blood from her face. “This man means so much to you?”

Amalie pursed her lips. “I hadn’t considered why I was wearing it. I put it on almost as an afterthought.” She glanced at Iveta’s bloody shirt, and covered her face with her hands. “And because of my afterthought, you were forced to kill again, two younglings are dead, and Marek knows where we are.”

“No one has ever forced me to do anything,” Iveta said, as she grasped Amalie’s hands and lowered them from her face. “I chose to follow you all those years ago, and choose to follow you now. I defend your body with my own, and you in turn keep the clan safe, and hidden.”

Amalie smiled; no one knew the names and locations of every clan member, save her and Iveta. “We wouldn’t have lasted this long without you.”

“Remember that. As for the younglings, they also made their choices,” Iveta continued. “They were responsible for their fates, no one else.”

“And Marek?” Amalie prompted.

“Marek has probably known where we are all along.” Iveta stepped back, and pulled her ruined shirt up and over her head. “He’s always relied more on spies than warriors, which is another reason why those younglings didn’t last long.”

“I always told him he should be more careful with his people,” Amalie muttered. “Come, I’ll help you get cleaned up. Then, we must alert our own warriors. I refuse to lose anyone else to Marek.”

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