A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon #1) - Kelsey Quick Page 0,24
noble home and then we will direct you along the most common route for supply units, prior to his return. We wouldn’t want to inconvenience him with our undesired presence, nor would we want you to get lost, so stay close and pay attention.”
Anaya turns on her heel and walks toward the forest as the front-line of supply units follow. The hills ahead show no sign of a castle, nor anything but endless tree lines for that matter, which can only mean an exhaustive walk. My stomach gnaws at me desperately and fatigue hits me like a wave. I choke it all down and continue forward.
About a kilometer into the trek, more strangely dressed vampire guards come into view. They are stationed radially in front of a large field, seemingly guarding nothing. Anaya, meters ahead, lifts her wrist. The sleeve of her robe falls away, revealing a thin cylindrical gold plate that looks to be painfully connected to her skin. I wince at the sight, remembering that the rest of us will be tagged as well. Her specific tag must act as some sort of signal, for the guard closest to her then raises his spear and makes a strange motion.
After a few moments of silence, the endless forest ripples over itself like linens in the wind before dissolving into light blue hues—revealing a colossal stone-walled acropolis. My jaw drops on its own accord. Undoubtedly, the rows of trees that filled my sight moments ago were some sort of an illusion to what really occupied the space. Zein’s castle. I grimace at the thought of him, though I marvel at the majesty before me. It is still such a foreign concept that devilish vampires have this level of beauty mastered.
“Isn’t it something?” Savvy marvels alongside the rest of the units. I don’t respond, but I do agree.
As we trudge past the outer wall, I unwillingly think of Zein—his decision to spare me from the fallen—and my heart aches deeply. Not in anger this time, but in sadness. A long time ago I promised I would never allow myself to be appreciative of anything Zein did for me, because all of it was ultimately for himself; for the vampires and their bloodthirsty race. I shake my head vigorously.
I think about the anklet dangling near my heel, and my resolve is instantly repaired—my anger refueled. He is a slave owner. He took me for his own gain. There is no other explanation. My eyes well and memories threaten to flood the gates.
To rid my mind of it, I listen in on Savvy and Katarii’s conversation, which is currently revolving around the architecture of the castle. I need to be present. I can’t ask questions, or else I will fall apart.
When we reach the courtyards, the stone path gives way to water gardens filled with greenery. Blue, purple, and red blossoms of every kind are scattered about, and all are enveloped in shadow and early fireflies. As we draw nearer, long, tinted windows that are nestled along the castle’s perimeter wall come into view. They reflect the moon and stars brilliantly, almost purposefully. I take note, as the doors open from some unknown force, that those windows must contain the castle’s gatekeepers. Information that might be necessary for later.
Once inside, the elegance stuns me. Elaborate oil portraits of war and brutality—embellished by thickly carved frames—hang along the vast, inner sandstone walls. Bronze sculptures of soldiers boasting the valor of battle, and kilned pieces of beautiful women fill every empty corner or open space in the enormous and tapestry-adorned foyer. The first sculpture that greets us in the lobby is of the great general, himself, Zein. The bronze molding stands tall and proud, post-battle. One of its hands crosses over its body in some sort of salute, while the other holds a decapitated enemy—another vampire—by the hair. My stomach turns at the grotesque sight, reminding me of that vampire that Zein killed ten years ago. The one who nearly killed me. This is the type of person I’ll be serving, though it shouldn’t come as a surprise. It’s no secret that Zein is ruthless on the warfront, but with each passing painting of bloody battlefields, the rumors solidify, distorting my mental picture of him into something far more frightening.
We continue on toward the heart of the castle. Anaya takes us down a tall hallway lit dimly by golden-waxed candles. The grace of such light is so intermittent, however, that the halls might as well