A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon #1) - Kelsey Quick Page 0,101
hand to a nearby crate, inviting me to sit. I do so cautiously, and she turns her attention to Blond-boy. I follow her gaze to see him removing his veil, letting it fall—showing his face.
One look, one moment.
That’s all it takes.
Instantly, my limbs are dead weight.
My lungs expel air and won’t refill.
The weight of the entire world threatens to take me down into a bottomless shadow—a pit of spiraling oblivion. Everything crumbles as he smiles with relief.
“It’s been a while, Wavorly,” he says softly.
The atmosphere dries. Everyone stares at me. I fight to find my voice while my heart threatens to give out beneath the immense pressure that is an entire, lost world sitting across from me.
“C-Castrel?” My teeth chatter as I say it, my voice illustrating the thudding of my heart.
A light smile passes over his lips but quickly vanishes. “I didn’t think you’d recognize me that fast,” he says to me in French.
At the first word of his sentence, tears stream down my face. My fingers fly to my lips, barely concealing the gaping shock while my entire body falls victim to the existence of the boy, who I thought long dead; the only one I could call a friend back in Avignon—the son of our head guard: Castrel Lavarn.
Wails fly from my lips like breaths.
Ceti shuffles over to me. “Shh, you must remain calm. Your reactions have the potential to attract unwanted visitors.”
The will to calm my physical state engages and I force myself to stop crying, halting the adrenaline, forcing down my reaction. Castrel smiles.
“Essence Dissonance... I’m proud of you. You finally learned how to do it.” Once again, he speaks to me in French and I fight back the tears of disbelief as my mouth distorts. He studies me sadly before averting eye contact, linking and unlinking his fingers. But he’s here. He’s alive, and the sudden need to smile overwhelms my face for a second; the need to take him into my arms ravages me for a moment. But his very existence right here, right now... instills immense dread within me. Because that means Zein…
Everything is quiet, the room patient as I try to pull myself together.
“Zein…,” I direct my shaking words to Castrel, “...said you were dead. That no one survived.”
Castrel licks his lips and nods in a strange fashion before meeting my gaze. “You shouldn’t listen to everything that bastard says.”
I fidget with my robes, troubled by the burst of fury that accompanied his response.
“Castrel,” Ceti condemns him.
Her presence here is probably the second strangest. Zein’s advisor, a fellow supply unit, a castle soldier, and Castrel—the only other survivor from that fatal night in Avignon—are gathered here, together.
“Why are all of you here?” I ask anyone willing to answer.
“To bring you back to us. Back to the Mortal Mezzanine,” Glera says, leaning against the wall in a powerful stance so very much unlike the Glera I’ve known up to this point.
“She doesn’t know what that is,” Castrel says before I can ask. “Her parents had insisted that she was better off not knowing until she was older.”
“What?” I lean forward, my pulse spiking. “My parents?”
“Wavorly, please,” Ceti says and I try to bring it back down.
“What about my parents?” My eyes plead with Castrel’s. He glances the room, obtaining permission from the others.
“The city of Avignon wasn’t just a town,” he says, “It was a hub of specialized forces, meant to protect… you.”
I would laugh if not for the creeping dread. “Me?”
“Yes, you. The heir apparent,” Glera says.
I lean back against the wall as I process these words, nothing adding up, everything feeling like a hoax. Heir apparent?
Wait. From that inscription behind the violet wall.
My face alights with recognition and Ceti notices.
“You remember,” she states, smiling down at me.
I swivel my head in her direction. “What are you talking about?”
“From beyond the lavender gate. You found the translation.”
Another piece of my perfectly crafted world cracks.
“What?”
“What you saw behind the gate was only a memory, but very much real.” Ceti clarifies.
“You…,” I mutter, “You erected that wall?”
She nods, but then points to the soldier. “But it was Thelor’s memory.”
The soldier removes the demonic mask, revealing his face which is covered in a thin layer of gray dust. He’s a tad thinner than the usual vampire and his countenance, softer. His skin is taut with a handful of scars trailing along his scalp, cheeks, and neck. Narrow, serious eyes—one a bright bronze, and one a deep brown, analyze mine.