‘Fracture to her right wrist and considerable blood loss, presumably drained via the neck.’
Bound to sit upon the second throne.Destined to betray her kin; she lives in his past sin,
Bathed in the blood of the black rose above.So as martyrs, two innocents must die,For the girl, born to impassion the nine.’
Her last words were spoken with a severity and urgency there hadn’t been before and she gave a small gasp, as though surprised at herself. Fallon didn’t question her behaviour, but lay there patiently, his eyes roaming across the dark sky, as though counting the stars. With her gasp came silence, the fire the only one to speak as the wind raced through its mouth, sighing through pursed lips as the air escaped and hurried on, zipping between the trees and leaving only a whistle behind.I nestled further into the tree and stared up too, wondering whether, perhaps, with its strange, airy, even earthy language that the stars were more familiar than the first dimension and its even stranger inhabitants, the Sage.
Fallon sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. ‘That verse is a true declaration of war.’
‘But this is peacetime?’ I questioned, confused.I couldn’t become like that. I was a dhampir, a shadow of what they were capable of, and that’s how I always hoped it to be.
What are you, a bloody poet today? my voice asked, filling my mind with a mocking snigger. I ignored it.Fifty-four days, I had been at Varnley. Almost two months. I passed through the empty living room, heading for the kitchen. I shuddered, as the cold air rushed past. It’s getting wintry, I thought.
I paused, as I heard a distant whisper of movement.‘You should really guard your mind better, Violet.’