Part 5 (1/2)

”These belonged to your mother,” he explained.

Just like that, I had something to smile about. I lifted the hair from the nape of my neck so he could clasp the necklace. I didn't know what I expected. A connection, perhaps. Instead, the stone was cold against my skin. I s.h.i.+vered, but I doubted my father noticed. He was busy snapping the bracelet around my wrist.

He led me to the mirror. The jewelry was beautiful and added a flash of color to the dress. Studying our reflections, same red hair, red gleaming around our necks and hands, I felt closer to him somehow.

Our people dislike you, a voice mocked in the back of my head. He and Solange were the only ones in my corner. We ate dinner together every evening and they always had some funny anecdotes to share, yet having me as a daughter couldn't be easy. Our eyes met, and I smiled.

”Thank you, Father,” I whispered, calling him ”Father” for the first time.

He smiled as though pleased by my response, and once again I wished he did that more.

”You asked for me?” Solange asked, breaking our bonding moment.

I turned and my eyes widened. She wore the exact replica of my gown in black, with a red-lined black cloak. With her well-developed chest and athletic body, bright red lipstick and dramatic makeup, she was s.e.xy and wicked-looking, too. I wasn't sure whether she wore it to make me look even more innocent by contrast or something else. Whatever the reason, it suited her.

She laughed. ”Look at us, wearing similar dresses. We must have the same taste in clothes.”

Right, like she didn't know what I'd wear.

”If you made mine black, we'd be like twins,” I teased.

She shuddered. ”Black would make you look like a starving Nosferatu,” she said, putting an arm through mine. ”And that's the last thing we want. Right, Father?”

”Right. Black is too severe for the occasion, Solange. Change it to a different color or wear something else.”

”But I like this dress,” she insisted, pouting. ”What do you think, Lil?”

”I think, uh, it's up to you to choose what you want to wear, but at the same time, you have to be conscious of the message you're sending.”

Lord Valafar nodded in approval. ”Listen to your sister, Solange.”

”You're going to make a fine diplomat one day, little sis. When I'm queen, you will be my right hand.” The dress changed to blood red. ”What about now?”

”I like it.” It didn't matter what color she wore. She looked stunning.

Our father scowled. ”An improvement. I'm not sure if this makes it better or worse.” He opened the second box to reveal another pearl necklace. It had more red gems and the design was more intricate. Solange squealed and planted a kiss on his cheek. I envied her ease with him.

”It's time,” Lord Valafar said. ”We don't want to keep our guests waiting.” He offered Solange his right arm and me his left.

The guards were dressed for the occasion, in black cloaks with red lining and matching sash, swords and daggers strapped to their sides. Four of them escorted us.

The main hall was surprisingly empty. Over the last few days I'd noticed a stream of people coming and going. The scent of fresh flowers filled the air. Ribbons and sewn flowers draped the columns and the rails. Even the statue of Coronis had a garland around her neck. The main door to the arena opened slowly to reveal seated people.

”Lord Valafar, son of Ka.s.s, great-grandson of Queen Coronis, King of the Hermonites, and Head of the Order of the Princ.i.p.alities,” Sir Malax announced. ”Princess Solange, firstborn daughter of Lord Valafar and Lady Raya of the House of Lazari, and heir to the Hermonite throne. Princess Lilith, the long-lost daughter of the House of Neteru, the last daughter of Lord Valafar, and the Light-bearer of the Nephilim.”

I noticed he didn't mention my mother. Wasn't her lineage lofty enough?

Silence followed us as we walked across the threshold and entered the arena. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, hating the attention now that I knew my own people feared me.

Lord Valafar walked with his head held up, so sure of his place as the leader of our people. Solange was in her element, turning her head left and right and nodding, a serene smile on her lips. I glanced at the people from the corners of my eyes.

The chairs to the right and left of the throne were occupied by men and women in ceremonial robes and gowns just like Lord Valafar's. They must be the upper-level Hermonites-dukes and d.u.c.h.esses, lords and ladies. On the rest of the benches of the arena were the other Hermonites.

Everyone, even the lords and their wives, bowed and pressed their right fists to their chests. One particular head caught my attention. It was Green Eyes. He studied me insolently from head to toes and back up again as he bowed. Somehow, I couldn't help thinking that he was mocking me. He shook his head, which didn't make sense.

Stop staring at me, he said.

Heat crawled up my face. How did he link with me without pinging first? Lord Valafar indicated I should take a seat on the chair to his left, while Solange sat on his right. Once we were seated, everyone stopped bowing and pressing their hands to their chests. If I were queen, that annoying gesture would be the first thing to go.

I didn't make eye contact with anyone after that but felt many eyes on me. Lady Nemea's words resounded in my head. They didn't trust me and thought I shouldn't be here, that I was a spy for the traitorous Guardians. That hurt. Why would I spy for the very people responsible for my mother's death, the same people who'd kidnapped me and hunted us down like animals? Did Green Eyes think I was a spy too?

I glanced toward where he was seated, but he was gone.

A woman seated to the right side of the throne stood, and silence filled the room. ”Lords and ladies, heads of the houses of Neteru, Nosferatu, Werenephil, and Lazari, and my fellow Hermonites, I welcome all of you on behalf of Lord Valafar, our exalted leader. May the Princ.i.p.alities guide him. It is not often we have a reason to hold a celebration of this magnitude. We have mourned our brothers and sisters who fought so valiantly and now suffer in Tartarus, but the time is right to honor them and thank them for defeating our enemies and bringing home our long-lost daughter.”

The arena erupted as people clapped and stamped their feet. My eyes connected with a few who didn't clap. I looked away, hating that I wanted them to like me.

Troupes of entertainers-dancers, trapeze artists, contortionists, swordsmen-streamed in one after another. No one tried to hide their true ident.i.ty-Werenephils with tails, pointed ears, scaly skins, and horns sticking out of their hair or their foreheads, Nosferatu with their fangs, Lazari turning into smoke and back to physical form.

Nearby upper-level Hermonites met my gaze, smiled or nodded. One particular guy stared at me with an expressionless face. No smile or nod, gray eyes unreadable. He appeared younger than the other lords, silver hair perfectly styled. Something about him made him stand out. Maybe it was the fact that he wore a white suit under his robe while everyone else wore black, or maybe it was something else.

Even though his expression was calm, anger flowed from him. He hated being here.

What is it?

Startled, my gaze flew to Lord Valafar's. It was weird hearing his voice inside my head. It's nothing.

Our people can tell you are distracted. I can tell, he said, stressing the I.

Sure enough, when I studied the hall, more of the spectators were staring at me. I could also feel their emotions. Some were curious about me. Others were worried, but a few were downright scared. What did they think I'd do? Kill them in their sleep?

Who's the man with silver hair?

Gavyn, son of Llyr. Why?

I can hear his thoughts, I said.

What is he thinking about? Lord Valafar asked.

Food.

Lord Valafar frowned. What is he feeling?

I glanced at him, but he kept staring at the entertainers. How did you know I could feel his emotions?

You are an empath, and empaths feel other people's emotions. What is the son of Llyr feeling right now?