Chapter 11

I gasp for air the moment I'm outside, trying to still the racing of my heart and the horrible feeling settled within my stomach. I close my eyes and instantly regret it, the images of the feast replaying again and again. I don't know how I'm going to be able to sleep tonight with the memories so fresh.

The moon shines brightly, no longer the same intense golden yellow as before. I'm sure it doesn't mean anything, but it feels as if it could be a case of the magic of the evening wearing off.

Does that mean I'm a full vampire now?

I straighten up and touch my teeth. They feel normal, and not like the fangs that some of the other vampires were using to bite into the throats of the unsuspecting humans. No wonder Mrs Potsworth told me not to come here tonight. She probably didn't realise I was a dhampir when she said that, but she must have known that the people who come up here never return to the town.

If I get a chance, I should go and tell her she's right to be afraid, and to convince the rest of the town to stay well away.

Even as I think it, I know it's a fool's errand. Why is she to believe me? And even if she does, what's to say she won't kill me before I have a chance to properly explain?

I wipe away the remnants of tears, though I'm sure they'll be back. At least the cool evening air has helped calm me down, even if I'm nowhere near ready to head back inside.

Footsteps sound behind me and I tense, half expecting it to be Lord Fallmartin coming to instruct me to come back inside and take part. I turn around, readying myself to return to the ballroom even if I don't want to. Getting out of this situation unscathed is my goal, and for now, that involves listening to Lord Fallmartin and precisely what he expects from me.

My lips part as I realise the man isn't anyone I know. "Good evening," I say, my voice coming out strained.

"Is it?" he responds, slurring his words slightly and half stumbling as he comes to stand beside me.

I try to think of an answer, but don't have one. I suppose it's a good evening for people like my brother, those wanting to find a place in the world and willing to build it on the blood of others. For the humans here tonight, not so much.

"You're in my spot," he says.

I frown. "I'm sorry. I'll leave." I pause, remembering that I'm supposed to not be drawing attention to myself. I dip into an awkward curtsy. "My Lord."

His eyebrows shoot up. "You don't have to leave. That was rude of me."

"A little," I mumble, unable to help myself.

"I'm not used to finding people out here during feasts."

"I needed some air," I say, before remembering that I shouldn't be showing weakness. "Too much wine." It's the best I can come up with when I know the truth isn't an option.

He snorts. "You don't have to lie."

"I'm not lying."

"You've barely had any. Now me, I've had more than my share." He lifts what looks like a whole jug and drinks straight from the rim. He holds it out to me.

"No, thank you."

"It'll take the edge off the feast ," he says bitterly.

I stand rooted in my spot, trying to figure out the best way to respond to him that isn't going to get me into trouble. I want to tell him that the feast doesn't bother me, and that I'm out here for completely unrelated reasons. That's the sensible thing to do, and I know it's what Lord Fallmartin would want. But I can't bring myself to say the words. Until I find the way to escape this world, I need to hold onto myself, without letting on how I feel.

"Suit yourself," the man mutters, taking another swig and somehow managing to stumble.

I reach out to steady him. "Maybe you've had enough," I say, reaching out to take the jug from him.

"You can't have it unless you're going to drink," he slurs.

"I don't want to drink."

"Worried it'll make the nightmares worse?" he asks, his dark eyes growing haunted as he says the words.

"What nightmares?"

"Of the feast. You look like the kind who will wake up screaming in the night."

I open my mouth but can't find the words to respond to him.

"My Golden Moon was five years ago," he says, looking up at the sky and examining the moon. "I still have nightmares. I'm not trying to insult you."

"You're not doing a very good job of that," I retort, instantly regretting it.

"Ah, so you do have thoughts."

"Of course I have thoughts," I respond. "But it might surprise you to know that I don't just share them with drunk strangers."

"You would if you were drunk too."

"Which is precisely why I shouldn't be," I mutter.

"Maybe you're onto something there," he muses, swaying from side to side and looking as if he's going to fall over.

"Here, let me help you," I say softly, reaching out for his arm and taking him over to what looks like it used to be a wall. It's certainly sturdier than where he was perched before.

I'm half surprised he actually lets me do it, and he sits down, stretching his legs out. "Did you know any of them?"

"Any of who?" I ask, finally managing to take the jug away from him. I have no idea who the man is, but I definitely know he's had too much.

"The people." He turns to me, pain written all over his face. He's younger than I thought, which makes sense if he said his Golden Moon was five years ago. His light blond hair falls in front of his eyes, but it's the intelligence and pain in them despite all of the wine that breaks down my walls and want to confide in him.

"I recognised some faces." Though thankfully, I couldn't put names to them. I think that would only have made things worse. "But my brother is with me, and he..." I trail off, realising that I really shouldn't say it. Not to someone I don't know, even if I doubt he'll remember much of this conversation in the morning.

"Showed you a side of him that you didn't realise existed," the man responds. "I'm lucky not to have experienced that with my brother, but I can imagine how it might feel."

"I don't know how it feels. He's my brother, and I love him."

"Of course you do."

"And tonight has been an interesting experience."

He gives a sharp laugh. "That's one way of putting it. Feasts are an experience , though I'm not sure interesting is the word I'd use."

"How often do they even happen?" I ask. I'd rather be prepared the next time I'm going to be faced with one.

"You're full of questions."

"I found out vampires were real a couple of hours ago. Forgive me if I might have a few questions about the whole thing."

"I'm sorry," he says. "Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot."

"I don't think there's a right one tonight."

"Fair enough. The official feasts are about once a year. With unofficial ones happening for the logical occasions, weddings, betrothals, funerals, the like."

"So try to avoid getting married if possible," I muse.

He gives a harsh laugh. "You'll be betrothed by the end of the year."

"Betrothed?" I echo.

"The thing that comes before marriage."

"I know what it is. I just didn't really think about that."

"That's the way it is. If you're the daughter of a noble, your job is to marry and form an alliance for your House. That's how it goes. Unless you sneak off in the middle of the night with a lover. But I don't recommend it."

"Personal experience?" My curiosity is piqued and even if I know I shouldn't ask when he's drunk enough to tell me things he probably shouldn't, I still do.

"No." The word sounds like there's more to the story, but I don't push him on it.

Which is probably for the best. I don't know who he is and if this conversation gets back to Lord Fallmartin, I don't know what he'll do. I look over my shoulder at the front doors of the castle, wondering what's going on inside even if I don't really want to know.

"It's likely safe to venture back in," the man says. "The feasts never last long. Those who can't stomach it often briefly escape, whereas those who embrace it let themselves be bathed in blood in mere moments."

"There are others who don't like it?"

"Of course."

"But you don't talk to them?" I ask.

"Maybe I do."

"You came out here expecting to be alone and were frustrated when you weren't, I'd guess that you're not used to talking to anyone else who doesn't like what's going on in the castle."

"Mmm. Well no, I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because you should be careful who you trust around here," he says simply.

"Even you?"

"Especially me. I am bound by my position just like you are bound to yours. We are pawns for our fathers to do with what they wish, never forget that."

"I don't want to be a pawn."

"You don't have a choice in the matter," he responds. "None of us do." He gets up and starts heading back to the castle before I can respond.

I stare after him, only realising now he's leaving that I never actually learned his name. Nor he mine, which is something I can be grateful for. If he doesn't know who I am, then word of our conversation can't make its way back to Lord Fallmartin, and I can't get in any trouble for it.

I curse my own recklessness. I should have kept my mouth shut and left when I had the chance. Next time, I'm going to be better at doing just that, and try to avoid putting myself in any more danger than I already am.