Chapter 11 Rules of the Tower
I sat on the edge of the massive four-poster bed, my bare feet hovering inches above the cold stone floor. The silk nightgown I wore was new, a pale grey thing that felt like water against my skin. My old dress, the sapphire one stained with Klaus’s black blood, was gone. Vanished while I slept.
I rubbed my eyes, feeling the grit of exhaustion still clinging to my lashes. Yesterday felt like a fever dream. The Emperor’s blind, milky stare. Vespera’s shattered jar. The weight of Klaus collapsing against me in the hallway, smelling of rot and ozone.
I stood up, my legs protesting with a dull ache. I walked to the door.
I reached for the heavy iron handle. I pushed.
Locked.
I didn't know why I expected it to be open. Klaus had saved me, yes. He had held me while I wiped the blood from his lips. But he wasn't my savior. He was my jailer. The golden leash he spoke of was still a leash, no matter how much slack he gave me.
I turned away from the door and began to pace.
The tower was a masterpiece of isolation. It was a suite of three rooms: the bedroom, a small solar filled with dying plants that had never seen true sunlight, and a bathroom lined with black marble. Every surface was covered in velvet or silk, every piece of furniture carved from dark, heavy wood. It was designed to make a prisoner forget they were in a cell.
But the silence gave it away.
There was no sound of the ocean here. No rhythmic crashing of waves, no cry of gulls. Just the low, mechanical hum of the air filtration systems pumping breathable air into the room, keeping the toxic smog of the Citadel at bay.
I walked into the solar. A bookshelf covered one wall, filled with leather-bound volumes. I pulled one out at random. The History of the Nocturnal Wars. I shoved it back.
"Hello?" I called out, my voice sounding flat in the dead air.
Nothing.
My stomach gave a sharp, painful twist. I hadn't eaten since the jerky Klaus had fed me. The hunger was a claw inside me now, scratching at my ribs.
Suddenly, a grinding noise came from the wall near the fireplace.
I jumped back, grabbing a heavy brass candlestick from the mantelpiece.
A section of the stone wall slid inward, revealing a small, dark service tunnel. It wasn't the main door; it was a servant’s entrance, barely three feet high.
A tray slid out first, pushed by a pair of trembling, clay-colored hands.
Then, a head popped out.
It was the creature from before. Rook.
He looked around the room frantically, his large, bat-like ears swiveling like radar dishes. When his yellow eyes landed on me he let out a high-pitched squeak and covered his head with his arms.
"Don't strike! Please, mistress! I bruise like a peach!"
I lowered the candlestick slowly. "Rook?"
He peeked out from behind his elbows. "Yes! Yes, it is Rook. High Steward of the... oh, I said that already. I brought breakfast."
He scrambled out of the tunnel, dragging the heavy silver tray behind him. He stood up, dusting off his oversized, mismatched uniform. He barely came up to my hip.
"Is it safe?" I asked, eyeing the tray.
Rook looked offended. "I made it myself! In the scullery! No one touched it but me. And I washed my hands. Twice."
He lifted the lid.
Oatmeal. But not the grey sludge I expected. It was topped with honey, nuts, and dried berries. Beside it sat a pot of tea that smelled of mint and ginger.
"Lord Klaus said no fish," Rook whispered, glancing at the locked main door as if Klaus could hear him through the oak. "He said... he said the supply lines are compromised. He said to stick to grains and roots until he clears the kitchen staff."
"He's paranoid," I muttered, but I sat down at the small table. I picked up the spoon.
Rook didn't leave. He stood by the fireplace, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, wringing his hands. He looked like he was about to explode.
I took a bite of the oatmeal. It was warm. It tasted safe.
"What is it, Rook?" I asked, swallowing. "You're nervous."
"I shouldn't say," he mumbled, his eyes darting around the room. "The Lord likes silence. He hates chatter. He says chatter is the sound of an empty mind leaking."
" The Lord isn't here," I said. "And I hate silence. Talk to me."
Rook took a step closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Is it true? Did you really make the Emperor cry?"
I paused, the spoon halfway to my mouth. "Who told you that?"
" The walls," Rook said, tapping his ear. "The laundry maids. Everyone is talking about it. The Sapphire Witch. They say you sang a ghost into the room. They say Lady Vespera broke a heel running away."
I allowed myself a small, grim smile. "She dropped a jar. She didn't run."
"She will," Rook nodded vigorously. "She hates being upstaged. But..." He hesitated, biting his lip. "You should be careful, mistress. Success is dangerous here. Now they will all want a piece of you."
"They already want pieces of me," I said, looking at the scar on my arm where a net had caught me days ago. "That's nothing new."
"No," Rook said, his yellow eyes wide. "You don't understand. Vampires... they get obsessed. Especially with things that make them feel. They haven't felt anything in centuries. You are like... like a drug. A new flavor."
He shuddered.
I put the spoon down. "Where is Klaus?"
" The Lord?" Rook flinched at the name. "He is in the Crypts. Resting."
"Resting?"
"He was... unwell last night." Rook looked at me with sudden suspicion. "Did you hurt him? There was black on his coat. The maids burned it."
Guilt, heavy and cold, settled in my stomach. "I didn't hurt him."
Rook crept closer, until he was right next to my chair. He looked up at me, his expression a mix of fear and fascination.
"He is strange, the Lord," Rook whispered. "Not like the others."
"Because he's cruel?"
"No!" Rook shook his head so hard his ears flopped. "The others are cruel because they are empty. They torture because they are bored. Lord Klaus... he is cruel because he is full."
"Full of what?"
"Rules," Rook said. "So many rules. Don't touch the prisoners. Don't drink from the staff. Don't hunt in the city limits."
I frowned. "Don't drink from the staff?"
"Never," Rook confirmed. "I have served him for fifty years. I have never seen him bite anyone. Not a maid. Not a thrall. Not even a rat."
I stared at the goblin. "That's impossible. He's a vampire. He needs blood to live."
"He drinks from bottles," Rook said, wrinkling his nose. "Old stuff. Preserved. The stuff they give to the infantry. It tastes like copper pennies and dust. He hates it. He looks sick when he drinks it. But he won't take it fresh. Never fresh."
My mind raced. A vampire who refused fresh blood? In a society built on predation? It didn't make sense. Unless...
Unless the Anchor bond makes him sick, I thought. Or unless he's trying to starve the monster inside him.
"Why?" I asked.
Rook shrugged. "Some say he is cursed. Some say he made a vow to a dead god. Lady Vespera says he is just arrogant, that he thinks he is too good for common blood."
"What do you think?"
Rook looked at the door again. He leaned in so close I could smell the wet clay of his skin.
"I think he is afraid," Rook whispered.
"Klaus?" I scoffed. "Klaus isn't afraid of anything."
"He is," Rook insisted. "He is afraid of the hunger. I have seen him. When the Blood Moon rises, and the other Lords go out to hunt... he locks himself in the cellar. He chains himself to the wall. He screams, mistress. He screams until his voice is gone."
A chill went down my spine. The image of the composed, terrifying Lord Falkenstein chained in a dark cellar, screaming at the dark, was jarring.
"He fights it," I whispered.
"He fights everything," Rook agreed sadly. "Even himself."
A heavy thud echoed from the hallway.
Rook jumped three feet in the air. "He's coming!"
He grabbed the teapot, poured a cup with shaking hands, and shoved it toward me. "Drink! Look busy! Don't tell him I talked!"
He scrambled back toward the service tunnel, diving into the hole just as the lock on the main door clicked.
The heavy oak swung open.
Klaus stood there.
He looked better than he had yesterday, but that wasn't saying much. He was dressed in a simple black shirt and trousers, his hair damp as if he had just washed it. The grey pallor was gone, replaced by his usual marble whiteness, but the lines of tension around his mouth remained.
He scanned the room instantly. His eyes landed on the open service tunnel.
"Rook," he stated flatly.
"He brought breakfast," I said quickly, picking up the teacup to hide the tremor in my hands. "Oatmeal. He said you ordered it."
Klaus walked into the room. He didn't close the door. He walked over to the tunnel and kicked the small sliding panel shut with his boot.
"I did," he said. He looked at the bowl. "You're eating. Good."
He walked to the window, avoiding looking at me directly. He stared out at the smog.
"How are you?" I asked. The question felt heavy, loaded with the secret of the black blood.
"Functional," he said.
"Rook said you were in the Crypts."
Klaus stiffened. He turned his head slowly, his sapphire eyes narrowing. "Rook talks too much. I should have his tongue removed."
"Don't," I said. "He's the only one here who doesn't look at me like I'm a walking potion ingredient."
Klaus let out a short, humorless breath. "True. Goblins have no taste for magic. They prefer fungus."
He turned fully to face me. He crossed his arms over his chest. The movement pulled the fabric of his shirt tight, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders.
"The Emperor was pleased," Klaus said. "You bought us time. The Solstice is in one month. Until then, you are safe from his knife."
"And from yours?" I challenged.
"I don't need a knife to hurt you, Nerissa," he said softly. "We both know that."
He walked over to the table. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable.
"But we have a new problem."
"What?"
"The court," he said. "You woke them up. Now they are curious. Invitations are pouring in. Teas, hunts, balls. Everyone wants to meet the Siren who made the Emperor cry."
"I don't want to meet them."
"You don't have a choice," Klaus said. "If you hide, you look weak. If you look weak, they attack. You have to go out there. You have to play the part."
"What part?"
" The favorite," Klaus said. "The jewel of the collection. You have to make them believe that you belong to the Empire now. That you are tamed."
"I will never be tamed," I said, gripping the teacup.
Klaus leaned down, placing his hands on the table, trapping me in his gaze.
"I know," he whispered. "That is why this is going to be so difficult."
He reached out and touched the collar of my nightgown, adjusting it slightly to cover a bruise on my collarbone. His fingers lingered, cold and heavy.
"Rook told me something else," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "He said you don't drink fresh blood."
Klaus froze. His hand went still on my collar. The air in the room seemed to vanish.
"Rook has a vivid imagination," Klaus said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Is it true?" I pressed, looking up into his eyes. "Is that why you're sick? Because you're starving yourself?"
Klaus pulled his hand away. He stood up straight, his face closing off like a steel shutter.
"My diet is none of your concern," he said coldly.
"It is if my life depends on your strength," I countered. "If you collapse again..."
"I will not collapse," he snapped.
He turned his back on me.
"Get dressed," he ordered. "Not the grey. Something with color. We have a visitor at noon."
"Who?"
"General Draven," Klaus said. "He commands the ground forces. He wants to see if the rumors are true."
"And if he doesn't like what he sees?"
Klaus looked over his shoulder. His eyes were glowing, the blue light pulsing with a predatory rhythm.
"Then I will remind him," Klaus said, "why I am the Admiral, and he is just a man playing with toy soldiers."
He walked to the door.
"And Nerissa?"
"Yes?"
"Don't listen to the goblin," he said. "He thinks I am a martyr. He forgets that I am the one who built the cages."
He slammed the door.
I sat there in the silence, the taste of honey and mint on my tongue.
He was a prisoner too. Locked in a cage of his own making, starving himself.