Chapter 16: A Promise Set in Silver

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  Shortly after supper, I find that Seth was right about Chiselle - unfortunately, but unsurprisingly.

  By the time I return to the library for my evening lesson, the redhead is ready to murder someone. Since her options are strongly limited, it is no shock that I have been selected as target practice. The problem presents itself the instant I enter the room, as she is about to hurl a carafe at me.

  Seth catches her wrist in time. “Chiselle,” he warns, his voice low and sharp.

  With a growl she lets the carafe drop to the floor instead, sending shards of red clay scattering across the wooden floorboards.

  “Throwing a tantrum will not dissuade me,” Seth says and releases her. “You will leave at first light. It is your obligation. But first you will clean up your mess.”

  “Leave? To go where?” I ask, stepping over a particularly large shard to get to the desk. I bet Chiselle would rather stab me with said shard than follow orders; I see how her gaze flicks back and forth between it and my shoulder, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.

  “In times like these, when sustenance is growing scarce, we trade with local hunters and merchants to fill our larder. However, the road by the mansion has been strangely deserted lately - as if something has frightened them away,” Seth explains and moves to join me at the desk. Grabbing the backrest of one chair, he strums his fingers on the lacquered wood before he pulls the chair out. “Which means that Chiselle must now travel to the nearby village of Alstead to establish a trade agreement if we wish to have someone deliver fresh game regularly.”

  In this weather? And without a horse? It’s no wonder she is fuming. Why she has decided to take it out on me, though, is beyond me. As far as I know, I am not at fault for any of this.

  In quick, agitated movements, Chiselle signs a longer sequence to her master, pointing at me twice in the process. I frown at the unwanted inclusion.

  “We are done discussing this. The answer is no,” Seth replies before taking the seat next to mine. “Now, get that broom and clean up before I lose my patience.”

  When she still refuses to leave, Seth turns to me and initiates our lesson with more letter practice. At last, the redhead stomps out of the library.

  I put the quill to rest in the inkwell in the middle of practising M’s. “What did she say about me?”

  Without looking at me, Seth grabs the feathered pen and corrects one of my letters in a swift, fluid motion, then retires it anew. “She wants you to accompany her to Alstead. She fears what I might do to you while she is away.”

  His words, spoken with such frankness, make my heart skip a beat. He could have lied to me easily, but he tells me what I believe to be the truth - as if the notion of him doing me harm is preposterous. And perhaps it is.

  Or it could be the perfect excuse to finally get his guard dog out of the house.

  If he has an ulterior motive, his face does not reveal it. But perhaps I can make it.

  “She might have a point, you know,” I say. “Besides aiding her in her negotiations, I could find a way to send word to my parents about my wellbeing. Maybe even purchase a horse for when it’s time for me to go home - with your funds, of course, as part of our deal.”

  Seth leans back in his chair and watches me closely. “I acknowledge the validity of your arguments - and your right to choose for yourself, as is your prerogative - but I strongly advise against it.” His face remains blank and unreadable, and I cannot tell if it’s the kind of ‘advice’ that is really a decree nicely wrapped in a false sense of free will. Seth gestures toward my leg under the desk and clarifies: “On foot, the trip will take five to six days, provided everything goes according to plan. I fear that you have yet not healed sufficiently for such a lengthy journey.”

  I roll my eyes and grab the pen once more, continuing the row of M’s with a careless hand. “If I wanted a fussing mother I would have asked my own.”

  Seth goes silent for a while, and I finish the row of M’s and continue on to N. Without warning, he snatches the pen from me before the tip touches the paper on the next line. “If you insist on demonstrating your frustration with me, then at least take it out on me directly instead of ruining your worksheet like a surly adolescent.” He then returns the quill to the inkwell and pushes it out of my reach.

  Offering him a saccharine smile, I snap my notebook shut. “Refering to me as a child surely will help the matter.”

  Calmly, Seth leaves the desk to get himself a drink. “I promised you that I will arrange for you to get home safely, and I intend to keep my word. There is no need for you to risk your health; I will make sure that Chiselle procures a horse for you. I imagine she will be more than delighted to help ensure your departure.”

  My health? That is his argument? Where was that concern a few weeks ago when they shut the front door in my face? No, I don’t buy it. The vampire serves his own interests first and foremost, of that I am certain. He must have another reason entirely, because it makes no sense for him to put my wellbeing above the success rate of the negotiations meant to sustain him. Altruism isn’t his style - hell, he won’t even teach me basic literacy without getting something in return.

  “What are you afraid of?” I ask, wrapping my lowered voice in velvet to hide the steel edge in my words until they hopefully find their mark. “That I won’t come back and feed you? That I will run away the second we arrive at Alstead? That Chiselle will hurt me once you’re no longer present to protect me - despite your claim that she is harmless?”

  Why would he even care? It must be because of my blood. He cannot afford to lose me.

  Seth swirls his drink in a languid motion, obviously stalling in order to carefully construct his answer. “My primary reservation lies in the possibility of you twisting your ankle again and thus delaying your return.” He cocks his head, assessing me as much as I am him. “After all, the two of you will be bringing me my nourishment, of which I have had very little these past few days, as you might recall. Furthermore, there would be no one to hunt for me if you were both gone, and there are no more horses or mules in the stable for me to consume when my hunger grows critical.”

  A huff escapes me before I can contain it, and I decide to give in to the goading smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. “If your intention is to persuade me to remain here alone with you, then words like ‘critical’ and ‘hunger’ may not have the desired effect.”

  Though I imagined it impossible, he blanches. “Kia, I would never–”

  There it is - the way under his carefully maintained mask. And still he lies.

  “You are asking me to choose between the two of you,” I say firmly, cutting him short. “With whom do I feel safer: the starving vampire who has developed a taste for my blood, or the hostile being who probably fantasizes about strangling me in my sleep? She keeps you from harming me, and you keep her from doing the same. Separated, who is the bigger threat, I wonder?”

  He cannot convince me to stay when it’s clear that he is not speaking the truth - or at least all of it. For all I know, he could be planning a feast; the second Chiselle is out of the door, he could bury his fangs in my neck. Even she seems to suspect as much.

  Without bite marks, nobody can rightfully accuse him of breaking the law - but I reckon that two small puncture wounds heal considerably in six days. Even better if he decides to put them somewhere he already knows the redhead won’t find them…

  That very place I willingly told him about the night he asked; the place I accidentally bared to him earlier today.

  Before me, Seth parts his lips to speak - likely to repeat his usual reassurance - but appears to decide against it. Instead he takes a small sip of liquor and puts his glass down, tension settling in his jaw. “It so happens that I can clear up that particular doubt of yours. Kindly follow me.”

  I remain in my seat and watch him through narrowed eyes as he approaches the door. “Dare I ask where you will be taking me?”

  “There is something upstairs I wish to show you.”

  Of all eight doors in the upper floor hallway, I have only ever entered one. Excluding Chiselle’s bedchamber, the rest have been locked from the day I entered the mansion - maybe even before then. The strange pair could be hiding just about anything up there.

  Still I decide to follow him, if only to indulge my curiosity.

  As we climb the staircase in silence, I wrestle with the thought of the vampire sinking his monstrous teeth into the soft flesh of my inner thighs - an intrusive image wholly of my own creation - and I curse myself for my creativity as well as the unusual and alarming absence of revulsion. The still fresh memory of Seth’s face when he beheld that very part of my body does absolutely nothing to demolish the lewd and indecent imagery, and I fear it will revisit me late tonight when I lie alone in my bed.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The center of my imagination heads for the far end of the hallway. Along the way, he plucks a candelabra from one of the pier tables and holds the candles to one of the burning sconces on the wall, igniting them effortlessly. Then we continue on to the final door to the right. Procuring a key from his pocket, Seth opens it. The smell of stale air meets us before we even enter.

  “Please excuse the state of this chamber. Neither Chiselle nor I have used it for quite some time.”

  He must mean years, I conclude as we delve into the foreign land of dust, settled spiders, and an unnatural amount of storage furniture. Cabinets, chests, and wardrobes fill the space, arranged along the walls and leaving the center of the room bare. Judging by the size, I assume this used to be another bedchamber.

  Amidst it all, a lone dressing table stands out. The three flames of the candelabra barely reflect in the dust-coated mirror as Seth approaches it.

  Putting the light down, he carefully pries the small drawer open, sending a puff of dust up in the air. “Come,” he says to me and steps aside. “Take a look inside the green box.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What is it?”

  “A security measure - for your peace of mind.” He nods towards a small, dark pine green box with a beautifully ornate border painted in black. “You will have to pick it up yourself, as I cannot touch it.”

  My hand flexes by my side in brittle anticipation. “What do you mean? Is it dangerous?”

  “Not to you.”

  Although this whole situation seems strange to me, my interest has been piqued rather effectively - if not to rummage through a vampire’s personal effects, then at least to know why he is reacting the way he is. Tense. Uneasy.

  I brave myself for something unexpected, but nothing happens as I grab the box and remove it from its hiding place. Made of wood, it appears old - much older than any of us. The colors are faded, the painting chipped in places. Carefully, I lift the lid. A necklace.

  “Try it on,” Seth breathes, eyes fixed on the unusual pendant.

  I inspect the piece of jewelry in the flickering candlelight. From the silver chain dangles a teardrop-shaped setting, inlaid with a piece of pale amber-toned wood. Carved into the wood is a tiny symbol. I hold the pendant closer to the light to make it out: a rhombus with a straight line cutting right down the middle and with three spikes at the top and three at the bottom. With a little imagination, the symbol kind of looks like an angular eye with a vertical slit pupil and a few sorry eyelashes.

  “It is certainly… unique,” I say. “What does it do?”

  “Crataegus monogyna. Also called hawthorn or whitethorn,” he explains. “An amulet of protection crafted in the northern countries with ancient rune magic. Wearing it ensures that no vampire can harm you, let alone touch you.”

  Magic? Two weeks ago, I would have called it pure superstition, a fraud, without so much as a second thought. But I have since then seen proof of the supernatural, and I begin to wonder how much in this world I don’t know of.

  Now that Seth mentions it, I recall hearing about the whitethorn tree once or twice. Some people whisper stories of horror when they gather in the night, intoxicated people especially, and I have heard my fair share of tales during late work hours. Protection against evil, they say. Spirits, fae, demons, vampires, all sorts. Not that I consider the vampire beside me evil as such. Secretive and selfish and possibly dangerous, yes, but not evil.

  Not sure what to expect, I don the amulet. The chain is cool against my skin - otherwise I feel no different. “Are you sure it works?” I ask.

  Seth takes a step away, swallowing visibly. “I would gladly prove its effect to you, if only it did not burn my skin like a hundred suns.” His wary attention finds purchase on the pendant just below my collarbone. “It could incinerate me in a heartbeat upon direct contact.”

  A necklace can do that? Despite his reaction, disbelief fills me. While I cannot dismantle his claim without testing it and seeing it for myself, I can take it with a grain of salt. As long as he genuinely believes it works, the effect is all the same to me, I suppose.

  Using my sleeve to polish a circle on the mirror, I appraise the amulet. The shallow grooves of the carved rune tickle me as I run my thumb over the whitethorn inlay. It may be no fine gemstone or artisan masterpiece but it doesn’t look bad at all.

  “Neither harm nor touch,” I recapitulate, testing the strength of the clasp. The chain remains intact around my neck. “But could you harm me without touching me? I imagine hurling a bookcase at me would cause me plenty of damage. And what about indirect contact with the amulet?”

  Moving behind me, Seth stares at me through the mirror. I meet his eyes in our shared reflection, intense and hard, and a shiver runs through me at the sight of him hovering over me like a ghost in the darkness.

  “Allow me to be clear, Kia. I appreciate you investigating and theorizing, but this is not a decision I have made lightly. Letting you wander around my home wearing what is essentially a weapon against vampires is as much a testament to my trust in you as it is my attempt at persuading you to stay. You will have to be as careful as me to avoid accidents.”

  “I understand,” I say, suddenly doubting myself. He seems completely convinced that it works. The least I could do is treat it as if it does. Just in case…

  “To clarify, I can still touch you, but it would cause me excruciating pain to do so. Prolonged contact could even prove lethal,” he says. “As for assaults of ranged nature, I am not sure how the magic functions - but it ought to. Rest assured that I have no intention of finding out.”

  Turning around to face him, I smile warmly. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Seth. I promise I will wear it with the utmost of care.”

  “Good.” He returns my smile. “I would rather not meet an untimely demise on the verge of freedom.”

  I huff a laugh. “Is that so? And here I thought the excitement in life came from the impending threat of a swift and unexpected end.”

  At first, Seth blinks at me as if surprised or appalled by my words, and I regret making such a morbid joke on his behalf. Then his teeth flash in a grin, and a playful chuckle escapes him, low and silken against my nerves. Relief fills me as I feel the featherlight caress of his breath on my face.

  “Correct you are,” he agrees, his eyes studying mine as if they see me for the very first time. “Besides, they do say that death is the ultimate form of emancipation. One cannot deny the allure of a final discovery.”

  The way he now regards me makes my heart skip a beat for reasons unknown. I turn away from him in order to regain control over my chest and lungs.

  “With that said,” the vampire continues, “I must ask you to take the amulet off for now. Wear it as much as you like, but kindly wait until Chiselle has left the estate.”

  I fiddle with the pendant, trying to distract myself from the heat blooming in my cheeks. “Why is that?”

  “Firstly, to avoid revealing the fact that you know what I am. If she realizes that you know about my nature, she would begin to question how you found out and why you are not long gone by now. Secondly, the amulet belonged to her late mother.”

  My gaze snaps to his face, the spell of the moment broken and forgotten in an instant. “What?”

  The notion that Chiselle has - well, had - someone to call her mother is absurd to me. She’s just so… so unlikeable. I cannot, for the life of me, imagine her as a cute, stumbling toddler. Or having an affectionate relationship with someone, for that matter. Or possessing sentimentality.

  Naturally, she would’ve had to have a mother to even exist. I simply never thought of it that way.

  “Chiselle’s mother was human, if you are wondering,” Seth adds. “From where Katherina got the amulet, nobody knows. She had it even before Chiselle was born, though she never wore it.”

  How does he even know these things? Isn’t Chiselle older than him? Perhaps she told him at one point.

  “Why didn’t she wear it?” I ask, detaching the tiny silver hook from the ring at the back of my neck.

  “Because Chiselle’s father is a vampire. My paternal uncle, to be precise.”

  I nearly drop the damned thing.

  For the fraction of a second, I see Seth’s hand surge forward, as if he were prepared to catch it out of pure instinct but immediately decided against it.

  “Careful,” he hisses instead.

  I clutch the amulet safely in my fist. “Don’t spring vital information on me so casually!” I snap back.

  “Just… be careful,” he repeats softly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “It is the only keepsake of her mother she has. She would never forgive me if it broke.”

  Shame washes over me like a tidal wave. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  Putting the necklace back in the green box, I hide it in a fold of my skirt. Seth takes the candelabra, and we leave the storage room in silence. My mind, however, is spinning with roaring thoughts.

  “So Chiselle is half human, half vampire, huh?” I say as we return to the library and find the floor half-heartedly swept, small pieces of terracotta littering the wood still. “And your cousin.”

  “‘Dhampire’ is the correct term,” Seth informs me, casually brushing crumbs aside with his slipshoe as he makes his way to sit on the edge of the desk. “Interestingly, while dhampires share many traits with vampires in regard to physical prowess - although they are not quite as strong as us - ancient magic does not recognize them as of vampire descent. The magic binding me to this place does not affect her, and neither does the amulet.”

  Taking a seat in one of the upholstered armchairs for once, I try to ingest this absolute tub of new information: Ancient amulets. Unexpected relatives. Dhampires. Binding magic. All of it fascinating, if not a tad overwhelming for a mere serving wench like me.

  With a sigh, I stroke the jewelry box in my lap, contemplating his words. “As long as I am wearing the amulet, she can harm me, but you cannot,” I conclude aloud. “And this is your primary argument for why I should trust you enough to stay behind.”

  “Precisely,” Seth confirms and then procures a key from his pocket - the same one he used upstairs. He places it on the armrest of my chair. “In addition to this.”

  My gaze flicks between him and the key. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “It is my way of guaranteeing you full privacy,” he says. “It fits every lock in the mansion, naturally including the door to your bedchamber. Whatever it is you fear I will do to you while Chiselle is away, I wish to prove to you that I neither can nor will try.”

  I take the key. Made of brass and about as long as my middle finger, it is beautifully intricate, with delicate swirls and vines framing a blooming rose to form its bow.

  “Please take care of it, as it is the only one I possess,” he adds. “Chiselle will be bringing hers with her, so each and every door you decide to lock will remain locked until her return.”

  It could all be part of an elaborate lie, I remind myself. Deception meticulously assembled from gifts and sacrifices and assurances. He is so much smarter than me; he could fool me so easily. And yet, when I hold the key in one hand and the amulet in the other, I cannot help but read it all as sincerity. And I feel… safe. Foolishly so. But I believe him.

  “Alright. You win,” I say, perhaps a tad sharply. “I will stay. Don’t make me regret it.”

  His midnight black eyes gleam. “I promise you that you will not.”