Chapter 56 Hum
I stood by the window of my tower, watching the grey smog swirl around the jagged spires of the Citadel. The iron doors behind me were locked—not that I had the strength to run. My body felt like it was made of wet clay, heavy and sluggish. The black lines on my arms had reached past my elbows, throbbing with a dull, rhythmic heat that matched the slowing beat of my heart.
Sulla moved through the room like a ghost, her footsteps silent on the cold stone. She was placing a fresh dress on the chair—a stiff, structured garment of midnight velvet with a high collar designed to hide the rot climbing my neck. She didn't look at me. She didn't have to. The smell of the room told her everything: the sharp, metallic tang of the black fluid I had coughed into my basin overnight.
Klaus was not here. He hadn't been here since the Emperor broke him in the Throne Room.
The Anchor bond was no longer a wire; it was a leaden chain dragging through the mud. I could feel him somewhere in the lower levels of the palace—a cold, agonizing knot of pain that flickered like a dying candle. He was alive, but he was saturated. Every drop of the Southern Rift’s death that I had tried to swallow, the Emperor had forced back into Klaus’s lungs.
"Arch-Duchess."
The voice came from the small iron grate in the door. It was the Captain of the Guard.
"The Emperor requires the Voice in the Cathedral. The Lycan delegation is restless. They need to be... reminded of their place."
I closed my eyes.
"I am coming," I rasped.
I turned to the mirror. Sulla stepped forward, her hands trembling as she began to fasten the silver hooks of the velvet dress. She worked quickly, her eyes averted. When she reached for the black pearl veil, I grabbed her wrist.
"No," I said. "Not today."
I wanted them to see. I wanted the Lycan lords and the vampire counts to see the price of their "peace." I wanted them to see the black ink in my eyes and the way my skin was turning the color of a bruised plum.
The Cathedral of Shadows was a cavern of obsidian and glass.
It was built to amplify sound, designed so that even a whisper would echo until it sounded like a roar. Thousands of candles floated in the gloom, their flames dancing in the drafty air. The Lycan delegation sat on one side of the long stone table, their hackles raised, the scent of wet fur and aggression filling the hall. On the other side sat the Vampire High Council, their red eyes fixed on the doors.
The Emperor sat at the head of the table. He looked pleased. He was swirling a glass of dark liquid, his blind eyes tilted as if he were listening to a song only he could hear.
I walked down the center aisle. My charcoal silk skirts hissed against the stone, a sound like a snake moving through dry grass. I didn't look at the Emperor. I didn't look at the wolves.
I looked at the shadow standing behind the Emperor’s throne.
Klaus.
He was back on duty. He was dressed in his full Admiral’s regalia, his silver medals polished to a blinding shine. But his face... his face was a ruin. The black veins had conquered his jaw and were creeping toward his eyes. He stood perfectly still, his hands clasped behind his back, but I could see the way his chest hitched with every shallow, whistling breath. He looked like a man made of porcelain that had been shattered and glued back together with tar.
Our eyes met for a fraction of a second.
The sapphire in his gaze was almost gone, drowned in a sea of dark, oily ink. He looked at me with a sorrow so profound it made my knees buckle. I’m sorry, his eyes said. I’m sorry I couldn't hold it all.
"The Arch-Duchess Nerissa," the Emperor proclaimed, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "She will settle the dispute regarding the western timberlands. The Lycan lords seem to believe they can growl at the crown."
Varick, the lead Lycan, stood up. He was massive, his muscles bunching beneath his leather tunic. "We don't want a dispute, Your Eminence. We want the land that was promised. Our cubs are starving because the forest is turning to ash."
"And you shall have silence," the Emperor whispered.
He looked at me. "Sing, Sapphire Witch. Make them forget the hunger."
I walked to the center of the dais. I felt the weight in my chest shift—the black mercury sloshing in my lungs. I felt the Anchor pull, a sharp spike of ice in my gut as Klaus absorbed the initial shock of my power.
I looked at Varick. I saw the anger in his eyes, the raw, primal need to survive. I saw the same desperation I had seen in the sirens at the Southern Rift.
I didn't want to break him. I didn't want to make him a dog.
But the Emperor was watching. And Klaus was dying.
I took a breath. It tasted of salt and soot.
I began to hum.
It was a low, vibrating note that I pulled from the very bottom of my stomach. I didn't reach for the sapphire light this time. I reached for the black fluid. I let the resonance of the Blight flow through my vocal cords.
Mmmmmm-nnnnnnnn...
The sound wasn't beautiful. It was a groan. It was the sound of a reef breaking under the weight of an oil spill. It was the sound of a heart turning to stone.
The effect was instantaneous.
Varick’s hands dropped to his sides. His snarl faded into a look of blank, hollow confusion. The other Lycans slumped in their chairs, their eyes glazing over, their breathing slowing until they were barely alive. The vampires leaned back, their predatory hunger replaced by a heavy, lethargic boredom.
I felt the feedback.