Chapter 14 Feeding Test
The silence in the tower had changed.
Since the incident with the boiling water, Klaus had kept his word. No maids entered. No guards patrolled the hallway. Even Rook, with his shuffling feet and nervous chatter, had been banished to the lower kitchens.
It was just us.
I sat on the velvet rug near the fireplace, my knees pulled to my chest. My left shoulder was throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache under the linen bandages. The salve Klaus had applied had taken the edge off the fire, but the memory of the heat still made my skin crawl.
I heard the heavy lock slide back.
I didn't flinch. I was learning the rhythm of his arrival.
But this time, the door didn't just open for him. There was a sound of dragging.
Klaus walked in.
He wasn't looking at me. He was hauling a man by the back of his collar, dragging him across the floor as easily as a sack of grain.
The man was a vampire. I could tell by the pallor of his skin and the faint, panicked retraction of his fangs. He was dirty, his uniform torn, his face a map of bruises. His hands were bound behind his back with silver chains that smoked faintly against his skin.
Klaus threw him.
The man skid across the rug, crashing into the leg of the heavy oak table. He curled into a ball, coughing, spitting blood onto the pristine stone.
I scrambled up, backing away until I hit the bookshelf.
"What is this?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Klaus stood in the center of the room. He looked immaculate in his black coat, not a hair out of place, but his eyes were hard. Cold. There was no trace of the man who had gently bandaged my shoulder yesterday. This was the General. This was the monster the world feared.
"The Emperor is impatient," Klaus said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "The ballad at the court was pretty, Nerissa. It made them cry. But tears don't win wars."
He pointed a gloved finger at the man on the floor.
"This is Silas. A deserter. He murdered his commanding officer and tried to sell state secrets to the Lycan clans."
Silas groaned, trying to push himself up. "Please... Lord Falkenstein... I didn't..."
"Quiet," Klaus said. He didn't shout. He just dropped the word like a stone, and Silas flinched as if struck.
Klaus looked at me. "The Emperor demands a field test. He wants to know if you can do more than just make us sad. He wants to know if you can make us obey."
"You want me to enslave him," I said, the realization settling in my stomach like lead.
"I want you to take his mind," Klaus corrected. "I want you to strip away his will until he is nothing but a husk waiting for an order."
"No."
The refusal came out immediate and sharp.
"I am not a weapon," I said, my voice shaking. "I am not an executioner. I won't violate his mind just to amuse your Emperor."
"It is not for amusement," Klaus said, taking a step toward me. "It is for survival. Yours. If you cannot prove utility, you are just a resource waiting to be harvested. Do you understand what they do to resources, Nerissa? They drain them."
"I don't care!" I shouted. "I won't do it!"
Silas looked up at me, his red eyes wide with terror. He knew what I was. He knew what Klaus wanted.
Klaus sighed. It was a heavy, exhausted sound.
"I thought you might say that," he murmured.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a knife.
It wasn't a ceremonial dagger. It was a flaying knife—thin, curved, and incredibly sharp. The steel caught the dim light of the room.
Klaus walked over to Silas. He grabbed the deserter by the hair, yanking his head back. He pressed the blade against the vampire's throat, right over the jugular.
"No!" I gasped, stepping forward.
"Then sing," Klaus ordered, not looking at me. His eyes were fixed on the prisoner's pulse. "Take him under. Put him in the trance. If you do, he feels nothing. He drifts away in a dream."
He pressed the knife harder. A thin line of red appeared on Silas's neck.
"If you don't," Klaus continued, his voice terrifyingly calm, "then I have to extract the information the old-fashioned way. And I promise you, Nerissa, I am very, very good at my job. I will peel him apart layer by layer. I will make it last for days. And you will watch every second of it."
"You're a monster," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes.
"Yes," Klaus agreed. "I am. Now choose. Do you want his pain to be on my hands, or his peace to be on yours?"
Silas began to whimper. "Please... mistress... please..."
He wasn't begging for his life. He knew he was dead. He was begging for the mercy of the song. He was begging for the anesthesia.
I looked at Klaus. His jaw was set, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He wasn't enjoying this. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip on the knife was white-knuckled. He was forcing my hand because he believed it was the only way to keep me alive. He was playing the villain so I could survive.
But that didn't make it right.
I looked at the prisoner. He was terrified. He was in pain.
If I did nothing, Klaus would torture him. The screams would fill this tower.
I had to choose the lesser evil.
I took a deep breath. The air tasted of iron and old dust.
I closed my eyes. I reached for the ocean. Not the angry storm, and not the grief. I reached for the deep, crushing pressure of the abyss. The place where movement stops. The place of eternal rest.
I opened my mouth.
I didn't sing words. I hummed a lullaby. It was the song mother whales sang to their calves when the currents were too strong. A song of heaviness. A song of sleep.
Mmmmmm....
The vibration left my throat and rippled through the room.
I saw the effect instantly.
Silas stopped whimpering. His eyes, which had been darting frantically, slowed. His eyelids drooped. The tension in his body, the rigid fear, began to melt away.
Sleep. The water is heavy. The dark is warm.
I poured my will into the sound, weaving a net of sound around his mind. I felt his resistance.
Let go.
Klaus didn't move. He held the knife steady, but I saw his own eyes glaze over for a fraction of a second. He shook his head sharply, fighting the pull, his sapphire eyes glowing brighter to burn away the fog.
Silas slumped. His head fell back against Klaus’s knee. His breathing slowed, becoming deep and rhythmic. His face, previously twisted in terror, went slack and peaceful.
He was gone. Trapped in a dream of dark water.
I held the note for another moment, ensuring the bond was secure, then let it fade into silence.
The room was quiet again. But it was heavy now.
Klaus slowly pulled the knife away from Silas’s throat. He stood up, letting the unconscious vampire slide to the floor.
He sheathed the blade. He adjusted his cuffs.
He looked at me.
I was trembling. I felt sick. I had violated a mind. I had used the gift of my people as a shackle.
"Good," Klaus said softly.
"Get him out," I whispered, hugging my arms to my chest. "Get him out of here."
"He is asleep," Klaus said. "He is happy. You gave him mercy, Nerissa."
"I gave him a cage!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "I took his will! Is that what you want? A puppet master?"
"I want you alive," Klaus said.
He grabbed Silas by the collar again and began to drag him toward the door. The unconscious vampire didn't stir. He was dead weight.
Klaus stopped at the threshold. He looked back at me.
"The Emperor will be pleased," he said. "This proves you can neutralize a threat without bloodshed."
"At what cost?" I asked, staring at him. "Every time I do this, I lose a piece of myself. And you..."
I looked at his chest.
He was hiding it well, but I saw it. The slight tremor in his hand. The way he was leaning slightly against the doorframe for support.
"You felt it," I said. "The song. It hit you too."
"I am the Anchor," Klaus said simply. "I feel everything you do. The weight of your voice... it is heavy."
"How much?" I asked, taking a step toward him. "How much did that cost you, Klaus?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
He coughed. A single, sharp hack that he tried to suppress. When he wiped his mouth, he did it quickly, hiding his glove.
"Rest," he ordered, his voice raspy. "Tonight, I stay. The Emperor’s spies are watching the tower. They need to see that I am keeping the weapon secure."
"You mean you're guarding me," I said.
"I mean I am guarding the world from you," he corrected.
He dragged the prisoner out into the hallway, signaling for a guard to take the body. Then he came back in and locked the door.
He didn't leave.
He walked over to the velvet armchair by the window, the one he had claimed as his post. He sat down heavily. He didn't take off his coat. He didn't relax. He just sat there, staring out at the smog-choked city, a sentinel of stone and shadow.
I stood in the middle of the room, feeling the phantom vibration of the lullaby still humming in my bones.
I had passed the test. I was useful now.
But as I looked at Klaus, watching the slow, labored rise and fall of his chest, I realized the terrifying truth of our arrangement.
I was the weapon. He was the shield.
And every time I fired, I was blowing a hole straight through him.
"Klaus," I whispered into the gloom.
He didn't turn his head.
"Go to sleep, Little Fish." He murmured.
I walked to the bed and lay down, but I didn't close my eyes. I watched him. I watched the monster who was killing himself to keep me from becoming one.