House of Judges (House of Royals Book 4) (3 page)

“Please,” I beg. “Tell me the truth.”

He takes a sip of his water, stalling in answering. One beat. Two.

“You died, and Mr. Ward went ballistic,” he finally says. “Two court members rushed into the room and started dragging him away. The entire time, Ian was yelling ‘she did this because of you.’  They took him away. The next day, when Cyrus was telling your House members that Ian had left, this time for good, I did not question it.”

Something bites at the back of my eyes and I shake my head. For the first time ever, I feel betrayed by Raheem. And it makes my stomach roll.

“Well, he didn’t leave. And you certainly failed to tell me that it was him that bit me and ended my life. He’s here,” I say as I stand. I walk back toward the door. “He’s down in the prison with me.”

I open the door to reveal the guard who brought me here. “I’m ready to go back to my cell,” I tell him.

“Alivia, I—”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” I say through a thick throat as the guard begins chaining me back up. “I understand why you did what you did.”

“Alivia, don’t,” he says as he takes a step toward me, but I walk out the door, dragging the guard behind me.

I get down five steps before I turn back to where Raheem stands in the doorway. “I forgive you,” I say as my heart breaks just a little more. “Truly. I don’t hold this against you.”

I study his eyes and see in them that he doesn’t believe me. Which is okay because I’m trying to decide if I really believe myself. I want to. But I’ve been manipulated and betrayed so many times.

So I turn around and continue walking down the stairs, chained like the prisoner that I am.

THE SUN TRIES TO BLAZE behind the dark gray clouds. Fat raindrops missile into the cell and splash to the floor, creating an enormous puddle on the stone. The pain is less severe than most days, but still I wish to claw my eyes from my skull just to end the burning and searing.

But slowly, the sun sets. Slowly, I am able to unwrap the sweater from around my eyes. Slowly, I take deep pulls once again, breathing in the moist and cold air. The sun fades away, but the rain does not cease.

I let out a sigh of relief as darkness engulfs me. Resting my back against a steel wall, I open my eyes and study the one opposite me.

For just a moment, I listen to the prisoners that surround me. Down four cells, the German man rustles for just a moment and then not thirty seconds later, begins snoring loudly. The Spanish man paces in his cell. The unknown silent one huffs as if they are doing pushups.

And Ian. I hear him breathe. Just on the other side of this wall. Slow. Thoughtful.

My heart aches.

I don’t think my heart has stopped aching in years.

“Why does everyone lie, Ian?” I ask through the dark.

He doesn’t answer me right away, but I hear his breathing change and know he’s heard me.

“I feel like everyone has lied to me my entire life,” I say as the weight on my chest grows heavier. “My mother lied by omission. By never telling me who my father was. Rath would never tell me anything about Henry. Cyrus said he was the one who killed me. Raheem let me believe you really did leave.”

I let my head fall back against the wall with a dull
thunk
. “Maybe they don’t so much as lie all the time, as they keep secrets.”

“People just want to protect themselves,” Ian finally responds. This voice is thick, muffled, as if he didn’t really intend to speak out loud.

As I think back on every scenario, I find he’s right. My mother was protecting herself. Rath was protecting his own heart from more pain at having lost his brother. Cyrus was protecting his small chance at winning my heart, and Raheem the exact same.

Who am I to judge? I’ve kept my own secrets. I still keep my secrets. And it is to protect myself.

“At some point, we’re all going to be hurt by the lies and secrets that those we love keep from us,” he says quietly. I hear him rub a hand over his face and then through his hair.

“Do you think you’ll ever find out who your biological father is?” I ask.

He lets out a small sound of disgust. “Highly doubtful. The only way would be to ask my mom, and she’s been dead for fifteen years.”

“Would you ever want to know?” I ask as my brows furrow.

Ian doesn’t respond right away. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Mulling it over, considering the consequences. “I honestly don’t know,” he finally says. “I loved my dad, the man who raised me. He and my mom were fire and ice, always bound to extinguish one another. They were no good together. And when I first found out, all I wanted to do was hunt down and kill the vampire who impregnated my mom.”

He pauses for a long time, his breathing growing deeper, more ragged. “But now…”

Ian can’t continue. And I understand it. Finally. He’s come to see that not all vampires are what they seem by their name. The longer he is one, the more he’s connecting the crooked and gray dots. The more he sees that he is a part of this picture.

“It’s okay to be curious,” I say as a sad little tug pulls at my heart.

Two more weeks. Fourteen days of sun. Fourteen days of burning. Days of starvation and dehydration. Sleepless days and nights.

I feel like death. And I have no doubt I look like it, too.

The German man is dragged away one day and doesn’t return. Two women are brought into the prison. One cries almost constantly. The other doesn’t say a word.

The rain continues to fall, and soon, the entire floor of my cell is covered in water. My skin is constantly pruned. My lungs vie for dry air to breathe, so I simply stop breathing more than once every few minutes.

Ian coughs from the next cell over, the first sound anyone has made in at least twelve hours.

“You okay?” I ask as I huddle on my flat, hard platform of a bed.

“Fine,” he says. I hear him shuffle, turning on his own bed. I imagine him lying flat on his back, his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

I tuck my knees into my chest, my back pressed against the hard stone. My old human instincts tell me to shiver, that it’s cold and wet, and I should be freezing. But this vampire body of mine doesn’t feel anything.

“Can you tell me something, Liv?” Ian asks.

“What?”

He takes a few deep breaths, taking his time in deciding how to ask his question. “Were you happy? Having the House and everything that came with it?”

I pick at a piece of fuzz on the hem of my sleeve. “I don’t know if happy is the right word,” I respond. “It’s hard to be happy when the King is always looming over your head. When Jasmine was making constant attacks on me. She and Micah are dead, by the way.”

Ian makes a surprised grunt, but doesn’t say anything.

“It’s kind of hard to be happy when your heart is broken,” I add quietly. But I need more truth. More honesty. Because I’m so, so tired of lies and secrets. “But in a way, I felt…completed, I guess. Running the House. I had a purpose. Before I moved to Silent Bend and found out about…everything, I just kind of, got by. I went through the motions of being a responsible adult, but I never did anything of worth. I just was.”

He’s quiet for a while, taking in what I’ve said.

“I never had a purpose until I found the House. I know you hate everything this system is and everything it stands for, but I did some great things while I ruled, Ian,” I say. “We were helping the town. We were protecting Silent Bend from this Snake army. I even got Markov to stop feeding on anyone in the borders.”

“That is quite the accomplishment,” Ian says with a little bit of a smile in his voice.

I feel one pull at my own mouth.

“Being dragged away from it was a lot harder than I expected,” I continue. “I know you hate them, but those vampires, they’re my family. They’re all I have.”

Another long pause. “Most of them have been a part of Jasmine’s broken House for a long time, and they followed the Kask’s father before that. And I grew up hating them, because they were the same as what killed my mom and dad. So, I think when you accepted your birthright, it felt like you were welcoming their killer into your home. I couldn’t separate the actions of one from the masses.”

“That makes sense,” I say with a nod. “And they’re all far from perfect. They make mistakes. But so do humans. No one is perfect. Ever.”

“No one is perfect,” he whispers in an echo.

And as he says the words, I feel something in him change.

That hard edge softens.

FOR ANOTHER WEEK, WE ROT in prison. Another prisoner is brought down, an older sounding man who I swear sleeps all the time. Even if he is a vampire.

A letter is slipped under my cell door. I open it up to reveal handwriting that is difficult to read, as if English is not the first language they learned to write in.

I’m so sorry, my nofret. R

It’s no question, R for Raheem.

I don’t know what to respond back. Not that I could respond. My feelings toward him are so incredibly complicated and twisted at the moment.

And time keeps passing.

So to pass the time, I catch Ian up on everything that has happened since he removed himself from my life. The tearing down of Jasmine’s house. The arrival of the King. The games. The way we massively expanded. My descent into darkness. Rath’s departure from the House of Conrath.

The plot to frame me.

Everything.

I leave out no small detail, because I have to get all of the secrets and lies out of me.

Including my involvement with Raheem.

“Do you love him?” Ian asks quietly. We’ve struck this weird balance of re-building friendship and keeping our past emotions and feelings removed. We’re repairing and not laying out judgment.

It’s not love, it’s just…need. Raheem had said it, and while I’m not sure it was true for him, it was for me. “No,” I answer. “I needed him. He was there, offering what I desperately craved at my weakest point. But I don’t love him.”

No matter how unfair it is.

“Do you still need him?”

Now that is a complicated question.

“Doesn’t matter,” I say, easing back from this circle of ease we’ve created between us. “I’m probably going to die soon, anyway. If they don’t forget about me down here for forever.”

“You’re not going to die,” he says. “They will see you have no reason to try and kill the King, all those Royals. Your House will come through.”

“We’ll see,” I sigh.

TWO DAYS LATER, ANGRY VOICES descend the stairs, hurried and chaotic. I leap from my bed and walk over to the door. Steel screeches against steel and suddenly, Ian yells.

“The King’s got a problem, and you’re just the man to take care of it, I hear.” I recognize that voice. Godrick. One of the Court members who came with Cyrus to Silent Bend.

“What are you talking about?” Ian demands. I hear him struggle as chains clang and a fist meets flesh.

“Got a vampire who needs putting down. One who’s trying to run,” Godrick’s deep voice bellows, echoing off the walls. “You catch him, put him down, the King says he’ll release you.”

“Release…” Ian questions. Suddenly, he gives a hiss of pain. “Ah!”

“To keep you from running,” Godrick says with a smile in his voice. “You don’t return to the castle with a body in forty-eight hours, this little chip under your skin will detonate. A hundred wooden barbs shot straight into your heart.”

“Ian!” I yell.

“It’ll be fine!” he yells, and already, I hear his voice retreating. “I’ll be back soon!”

And then, it’s silent. He’s gone.

THERE ARE FORTY-EIGHT HOURS BEFORE something implanted into Ian will kill him. Within those forty-eight hours, there are twenty-four of them in the daylight. How is he supposed to use those hours? I can only hope they gave him some sun goggles.

I could sit here and drive myself mad with worry.

Or I could do something to distract myself.

“Tell me about yourself,” I say, loudly enough to be heard. My voice echoes against the steel walls, being absorbed by the stone ones.

“Who are you talking to?” the Spanish man asks.

“Any of you,” I say. I stand with my back against the wall. “All of you.”

“Why do you care?” he responds. “We’re all probably going to die, anyway.”

“Death or not, I’m getting awfully tired of the silence,” I say. “How about I start?”

He gives a little scoff, but doesn’t protest.

“My name is Alivia Ryan,” I begin. “I’ve only been Resurrected for about two months. I didn’t know I was a Born until about nine months ago. I’m from the States. My father was Henry Conrath, my uncle Elijah. I’ve heard I’m a descendant of the third son.”

“Conrath,” a woman’s voice perks up. The silent one who came in with the crier. “He was a House leader. Does that mean you are, too?”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yes. My uncle who ruled was killed quite some time ago. I just recently took over leadership.”

“You’re the most recent queen investigation,” a deep voice rumbles—the silent man who hasn’t made a peep since arriving. The accent is thick, African sounding.

“Yes,” I say. “As you can guess, things didn’t go so well.”

“Someone really does want to take you down,” the Spaniard says. “I think it’s safe to say we all heard you telling your boyfriend everything. Somebody set you up bad. No wonder everyone thinks you did it.”

“Yet you knew nothing about our world until a few months ago?” a new voice perks up. The crier.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. I wish I could see the other prisoners. To read their faces and see what they really are thinking about what I am saying. “What are your names?”

“Horatio,” the Spaniard offers right away. “From Spain.”

“Luce,” the quiet woman says. “And my sister Lina.” The crier. “We’re from Vancouver.”

“My name is Obasi,” the African says. “I am a child of all Africa. I fall under no House.”

There’s strength in Obasi’s statement. Defiance. Fight.

“It’s nice to finally speak to you all,” I say, smiling to myself.

“Who do you think they dragged your boyfriend off to kill?” Horatio asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I shrug. “I’m sure the King has plenty of enemies he needs taken care of. It could be anyone.”

“And what makes him so specifically qualified to take care of this?” Luce asks.

“He didn’t know he was a Born, either,” I say, debating how much of someone else’s history I can disclose. But I’m tired of holding things at bay. And besides, Ian is going to be released soon. “Before he Resurrected, he was a hunter. He protected the town where my House is.”

“Sounds like a complicated relationship,” Luce says.

“You have no idea,” I breathe out. A million miles of complicated strings attached. “Tell me, why are all of you here?”

It’s a bold question, but one they asked of me. I hope I’ve offered enough of my own secrets to gain some of theirs.

“My sister fell in love with the wrong man,” Luce says. And there’s a hint of an edge to her voice—resentment, anger. But protectiveness. “He is engaged to the House leader in the Pacific Northwest. When this leader found out what was going on, there was a confrontation. I couldn’t just idly sit by.”

“So, the House leader sent you here?” I ask in surprise.

Neither of them answers me straight away, and I can just imagine the looks between them. “Attempts on a Royal’s life are never dealt with in a gentle manner,” Luce finally says.

I am not sure what to say at first. Who is right and who is wrong in how this situation is being dealt with, I’m not entirely sure. “The heart does have a way of cutting in and making things messy.” It’s all I have to offer to the two of them.

The air is weighted, heavy. I can only imagine the tension that must exist between these sisters.

“I hope things work out for you both.” I say it quietly. But I don’t know that I have much hope. The brutality of the Court is so obvious, and I’ve not even gone through my own trial yet.

“What about you, Horatio?” I move on.

“I said something that offended a Court member,” he says. “I think he put me in here just to get a backhanded laugh in.”

“So, you should be released any time?” I respond.

“I should expect so,” he says, and his tone implies he has nothing more to discuss about the situation.

Suddenly, feet sound on the stone steps, two sets of them, through the passageway and then stopping in front of my cell. A key grates in the lock, and a moment later, it slides open to reveal Trinity, a guard once again behind her.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, her eyes going wide. She steps forward, placing her hands on my upper arms as she takes in my sad state. “Have they fed you at all since they brought you down here?”

I shake my head, even as my eyes search her over quickly. She seems in good shape. Clean clothes. No black veins of hunger.

“What’s going on?” I ask, now searching her eyes for answers. “It’s got to have been a month now. What’s happening?”

“Christian and Markov are on their way here,” she says. She sounds nervous. “They should arrive in two days and then your trial will start.”

“They’re coming here?” I ask in disbelief. “Does that mean they found evidence to prove me innocent?”

She shrugs, the look in her eyes telling me she’s overwhelmed. She may be over forty-years-old Resurrected, but she’s trapped in the body of a seventeen year old, and she’s still that age in so many ways. “I don’t know. The Court won’t tell me much of anything.”

“What
do
you know?” I demand. I take a step toward her. “Is everything okay in Silent Bend? Have there been any more attacks?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know!” she says defensively, acting nervous. “All I know is that things are finally going to move forward. Those two are on the way.”

I nod my head, frustrated. “What about Ian? Have you heard anything about what’s happening?”

“Just some radical type that the King didn’t like,” Trinity says as she sits on my platform bed. “But I did hear Cyrus is going to release him if he kills whoever it is.”

So, maybe it is true, that they will let Ian go. Not just an empty promise.

I let out a slow breath. “So, what do you think? Are they going to convict me?”

Trinity shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’ve been listening around the castle, but it’s almost like they’ve forgotten about you. No one is saying anything about what happened.”

“It feels like I’ve been forgotten,” I say. I’ve already spent half of my life as a vampire in this prison.

“There is something,” she says. “The third son wants to meet you.”

My blood runs slow and cold at that. King Cyrus himself is a legend, a man most vampires are never likely to meet. Now I have. But almost as enigmatic as the King are his grandsons. Once there were seven of them, but they rose up against Cyrus, with his son. So the King killed most of those who rebelled, and gave the world to the two that did not.

I am a descendent of the third son. My claim to royalty.

“When?” I ask, my heart suddenly racing.

“At some point in the trial,” she says. “I think you’re about to meet a lot of very important people, Alivia.”

“Time’s up,” the guard says, suddenly yanking the door open.

“Thank you,” I say to her as I follow her toward the door. “Please, if you hear anything more, come tell me.”

“I will if I can,” she says, offering a sad smile before the door slides closed between us.

The footsteps retreat, and then it’s just us prisoners once again.

“At least one of us is getting out of here soon,” Horatio says. “Dead or alive.”