46. Alaric

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

ALARIC

Callista: My sword is sharp. I am ready.

This better work, son.

I cannot stop humming to myself as I add another layer of gesso to my painting.

She’s staying. She’s staying at Black Crag with me.

After we returned from the grotto, I tucked Winnie into bed. She needs all her strength before the ball tomorrow. But I’m too bursting with joy to have any hope of falling asleep beside her. She has nothing to fear from my mother right now and she won’t need me to sing her through her nightmares for another hour or so yet, so I have come to my study to work on yet another attempt at a painting for her.

This one is a work of cubism in the style of Marcel Duchamp. I thought that since I failed at capturing her likeness in any of the works now crowding the priest hole, I would instead break down her form into a series of beautiful shapes, and see if painting those shapes might yield something of her essence, of the way I feel about her.

But it’s not going any better than the others. The flowing line of her breasts looks more like a cow udder, and the less said about her nose the better?—

“Hello, Alaric.”

I tear myself from my easel. Perdita stands in the doorway of my study, her hands clasped at her waist. She wears a pale blue dress that matches her eyes, and I’m briefly transported back to the first moment we met, in the throne room of the Midnight Court so many moons ago. She’d been beautiful then, too. Beautiful and lonely, like me.

“I see you are hard at work on your art, as always,” she says, taking a cautious step towards me. “You were always so dedicated, unlike me. I barely touch the cello now. It all feels so pointless .”

“Art is never pointless.” I set down my brush.

“It is when everyone you know has heard every song a thousand times.”

“You should write a new song.”

“What about? About the friend who deserted me for a human? ” She spits the word, her pretty face twisting in rage.

“I deserted you long ago, Perdita. Long before Winnie,” I say. “I don’t deserve the title of friend.”

“No, you do not.”

She pulls over a small stool and settles herself near my elbow. “Please, continue painting. It’s been a long time since I watched you work. This is her, isn’t it? I recognise the shape of her nose?—”

I furiously paint over the nose with white. “If you’ve come to make a last-minute appeal about the ball, you’re too late. Winnie and I are in love, and she is going to remain at Black Crag with me, and I am going to see this law changed so we can be together. There is nothing that will come between us.”

“I do not wish to cause you pain,” Perdita says softly. “Your friends have conspired to craft this rash plan that, should it work, will ensure the alliance between my mother and the Nightshade Court without the need for us to wed. And nor would I oppose a change to the law. I agree that it is time.”

“You’re not here to watch me paint. You once said it’s even more boring than listening to the Poet Prince Edward trying to come up with a rhyme for ‘voluptuous’.”

“And I stand by that. I’ve come to appeal to your chivalrous nature with regards to your future wife.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do not think that because centuries have passed I can’t still read you, my poor tortured warlord. Your love for her is written in your eyes as clear and sparkling as any illumination. I know the two of you have set this fake engagement to get you out of your marriage to me. But you want Winnie Preston to be your wife for real.”

I slash my brush furiously across the canvas. That Perdita could still read me so well!

“It cannot be, Alaric,” Perdita whispers. “Does Winnie know the rules of our society? Even if you change the law allowing her in your bed, a vampire cannot wed a human. It’s one thing to parade her around at a dinner party as your future wife. The guests are progressive enough that you may get away with it, but they will expect you to follow our sacred laws. You cannot marry her unless she becomes one of us.”

I drop my brush and whirl around to glare at Perdita. I grip the arms of my chair so I do not claw her eyes out. “I do not care for the rules. Winnie and I want to be together, and that’s all that matters.”

“You cannot be that naive. Many of us enjoy our human toys, as predators like to play with their food. But she can never be more than that if she remains a human, and every day that you pretend it can be anything else will only hurt you both more. And I’m not even referring to how your refusal to turn Winnie will play into our enemies’ political ambitions, how you will be used as a pawn to overthrow my mother and change vampire/human relations forever, in ways too terrifying to contemplate. Things are worse than your mother has led you to believe, Alaric. She does not want to believe her power is waning, but we are on the brink of civil war. But all of that is beside the point.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why do you think this rule exists, Alaric? It’s not to protect our kin – it’s to protect you . What will happen to your heart when Winnie ages and you do not? What will happen to you after she dies an old woman and you live on, eternally youthful, enduring, your heart shattered into a million pieces? Stronger Upyr than you have been driven mad by their desolation. You consign yourself to an eternity of misery for one short human lifetime of happiness?—”

I lunge for her, twisting her hair around my fist until she cries out. I reach for the sword I keep beside my desk, the fury bubbling in my veins that Perdita would dare manipulate me?—

But she is right.

My fingers around the hilt tremble. She is right.

I’ve been so besotted with Winnie, so filled with the rush of feelings I thought died along with my human self, so excited that the laws could change and we could be together, that I haven’t considered what it means to be with a human. Every night we are together is a night closer to Winnie’s death. Her life will pass by in a flash and she will be gone and I will be desolate.

How could I have forgotten this?

And the factions conspiring in the courts will use our marriage for their own ends. If civil war breaks out and I could have prevented the deaths of innocent vampires and humans…

I would be no better than the warlord I swore to surrender.

But the alternative is unthinkable. I will not curse Winnie to this misery. I will never be able to forgive myself if I made her a monster. And nor can I go on without her.

The sword clatters to the floor.

I drop Perdita.

I slump on my chair, my head in my hands.

What do I do?

“May I present you with a different option?” Perdita says softly. Her chair scrapes back as she stands. “Come with me, far away from Black Crag, as my husband in name only. My family does not worship at the altar of tradition as your mother does. Instead of a dusty old palace, we will live in my villa in Italy or my penthouse in Prague. You will have a studio for your work, and I will get you into the hottest galleries. You will become a darling of the arts scene. We will have a life filled with colour and parties and music, and if you want Winnie as a Thrall or a toy, I have no problem with that. I could not care less how you spent your nights, as long as you extend me the same courtesy and allow yourself the emotional distance to not grow too attached.” Perdita smiles. “This way, you and Winnie can be together, you do not have to turn her, and war is averted. We do not have to be lovers to have a successful marriage.”

“Get out,” I hiss.

“It is the only sensible?—”

“Get out. Do not forget that this sword is inlaid in silver.”

“Very well. If you insist on being like that, I shall leave you to your work. Think on it, Alaric,” she says as the door to my study clicks closed, sealing me inside with my misery.