My face bursts with heat. “No!” I scoff. Arrogant prick.
He smirks. “Then perhaps coming to try for my dagger again?”
“I came to see how things went with your court after I left.”
“They went exactly as I expected them to,” he says dismissively, studying the hills in the distance. “Many questions about where you’ve been and why I’ve been hiding you all this time, why you didn’t join me last night. Others danced around their displeasure in our union while trying not to offend me for fear of earning my wrath.”
“Your Highness,” Corrin calls from the doorway, curtsying deeply to Zander. Her shrewd eyes turn to me, and there is no missing the rebuke in them even before she speaks. “Your gown is laid out for you, Your Highness.” She looks pointedly at my robe.
“Thanks, Corrin. I’ll be there in a sec.”
She opens her mouth, but a quick glance at Zander has her scurrying back inside.
“Corrin isn’t one of these tributaries, is she?”
“She was for a short time when she was young, as are all humans of a certain age. She was miserable in the role, and not particularly good at it. But my mother saw intelligence and loyalty in her, so she ordered her services as a lady maid, freeing her from other servitude.” He smiles, a genuine smile that makes his eyes crinkle. “She said Corrin was too sour to be a tributary. Her blood would poison people as surely as merth.”
Amazing. Bad vampiric humor. I bite my tongue against the urge to say as much.
A grave expression passes over his face, and I sense his mood darkening. “That is how my father and mother died. You learned of their tributaries and had your lady maid taint their beverages with deliquesced merth. We had no idea it was even possible to create a poison like that. My parents always took their repast at night, but they decided to call for their tributary before our wedding ceremony on that day.” His jaw tenses. “The poison tore them apart from the inside. It took about fifteen minutes. I made it in time to see the end.”
So that’s how Princess Romeria did it—by targeting the humans who were supplying the blood.
While I struggle with how I feel about these Islorians feeding off humans, I don’t revel in stories of their suffering. Annika described touching merth as having a thousand razor blades slicing across your skin. What would that feel like from the inside? I cringe against the gruesome thought. “What did the merth do to the humans? The tributaries?”
“Nothing. It’s tasteless, odorless. They genuinely had no idea what had happened when they offered themselves. They were devastated.”
Devastated by the death of the king and queen feeding from them?
“You will never understand the bond that immortals can form with their tributaries,” he says, as if reading my thoughts.
Because this body I inhabit is immortal, and Islorians feed off human blood. Something strikes me as odd. “What were you going to do to me in the tower that night, then? I’m not mortal.” At least, this body isn’t. What need would he have for biting me?
His eyes trace my neck. “We can still feed off elven, though we don’t gain any sustenance from it. There are other, more intoxicating reasons to do it. But I planned to help you become that which you despise most. One of us. Let you live in our skin for a few hours, until you met your end in the square.” His gaze ventures off toward the rising sun, a somber look across his face. “Let you know what it’s like to be at the mercy of that craving.”
I feel my eyebrows arch. “You were going to turn me?” My God, they are like vampires.
“You are certainly safe from that now.” With a smirk, Zander moves for his terrace, calling over his shoulder, “Enjoy your lesson with Wendeline.”
I watch him vanish, an odd mix of fear and curiosity swirling inside me.
Chapter Seventeen
My wary eyes drift over the sanctum’s interior. The mahogany pews are smooth, the marble tile floor on the dais gleams white, and a waft of sage incense permeates my nose. All signs of the daaknar attack have been erased, as though it never happened.
Yet, if I inhale deeply, I smell its foul stench. If I listen intently, I hear its claws scraping against the wood. And in the darkness of my mind’s eye, I see the pool of blood and maimed body behind the altar.
Outside, the sanctum is a jaw-dropping Gothic splendor of countless angles and spires, a cathedral made of obsidian, but trimmed in so much gold, silver, and bronze that it glimmers like a beacon under the sun.
Soft footfalls sound. I turn to find Wendeline approaching, her translucent gold veil shimmering in the streams of daylight that shines through windows high above. Warmth instantly blooms in my chest at the sight of her friendly face.
“Your Highness.” She curtsies deeply. Her voice is a soothing song. “It’s good to see you again. Things have changed considerably since we last spoke.”
I smile through the sting of resentment I feel toward her and Elisaf for dancing around the Islorian’s dark truth, even if Zander gave them no other choice. “More than I expected.”
Her vivid blue eyes venture to my shoulder, hidden beneath the maroon brocade. “Are you feeling well?”
“I’m fine. Hot.” I tug at the collar that reaches to my chin. The dress Corrin insisted I wear today is heavy and better suited to cool temperatures, and I’m already sweating from the short walk here.
She smiles. “Then I suppose not everything has changed.”
I chuckle despite my bitter mood. “No, I guess not.”
“His Highness has requested that I tutor you in all things divine.” She holds out her arms, palms up, gesturing to the towering figures surrounding the altar.
“And some things that aren’t.” Would anyone call what these Islorian immortals are divine?
She dips her head in acknowledgment. “His Highness has finally revealed himself to you.”
“That’s one word for it.” I glare at Elisaf. Between the sheepish look he greeted me with this morning and my bubbling antipathy for him after standing outside my door last night, listening to my terror and saying nothing, our walk over was silent and tense.
Elisaf has the decency to avert his gaze. “Do you need me here, Priestess?”
“I do not anticipate another daaknar attack. Thank you.”
They share a lingering look before Elisaf bows to me. “I’ll be outside if you require my assistance, Your Highness.”
I required it last night, I want to say. My eyes trail after the guard as he marches down the center aisle, wondering how often he feeds off humans, and who he feeds off, and whether I wish I’d never found out. No … I’m glad Zander let me in on his secret. Maybe things will begin to make more sense now.
Wendeline studies me intently.
“It’s so bare in here without all the flowers.”
“It sounds like they may be back again soon enough?” There’s a teasing lilt in her tone, though I’m not sure Wendeline is capable of taunting. And my situation is far from amusing. The flat look I give her says as much.
She gestures toward the first pew, guiding me to take a seat. “We can speak openly. There is no one else here.”