Page 113 of Thirst
The second candidate, a willowy blonde named Ramona, fell to her knees. “Mercy. Please. The goddess?—”
The Flask pulsed again.
This death was slower. Ramona writhed on the marble floor, her screams echoing off vaulted ceilings as her essenceunwound in crimson threads. The Flask pulled the life from her in measured sips while we all watched in shades of horror.
When it finished, two corpses lay on the ground. Guards moved forward to collect the remains. Above us, coins changed hands, the soft clink of metal punctuating the silence. I curled my lip, disgusted that the betting continued unabated after they’d watched the Flask consume two vampiresses.
“Let this serve as a reminder.” Mathias surveyed the remaining candidates, his gaze lingering on each of us. “The Flask demands success. Bring it mediocrity, and it will feast on your failure.”
The doors slamming open broke the answering silence in the hall.
Felicity stumbled through the threshold, her yellow bodice ripped and stained with dark patches. She dragged a bound vampire by a chain around his body, her Devotion trailing behind with pale faces. A few cheers and groans filtered down from above as more coin was exchanged in the wake of their arrival.
I stepped toward her, my mask slipping, showing her the stark relief I felt crashing through me. She offered a weak, lopsided grin.
“I got him, Ilya,” she whispered as she took her place in line. “Almost lost an arm, but I got him.”
I guided Noir with me as I shifted, taking my spot beside her.
She put her free hand to her forehead, swaying. I reached out to steady her, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my hand. It grounded me in a way it shouldn’t have.
I reminded myself of the mantra that’d kept me alivethis long: Focus and observe. Analyze and adapt. I had observed a genuine friendship forming. I had analyzed the truth that Felicity would have to die in order for me to claim the throne, or kill me to take it herself. Now I needed to adapt to the reality that part of me did not want to execute her, even though I would have to in order to survive. Only one of us could be queen.
My revenge plan had been absolute. Every Sanguine bloodsucker would burn. Yet Felicity did not fit the shape of my hatred. She hadn’t tortured me as a child or murdered innocents for sport. Her greatest crime was being born a vampire and entering the trials. As I stood beside her, I struggled to find the justification to condemn her.
Claws scraped on marble nearby. One of the blood-red hounds broke from its pacing and approached Felicity, its liquid form rippling with each step. It leaned in, nostrils fluttering as it drew a long breath over her. Felicity stared at it, frozen.
It turned away. The creature slipped back toward the artifact, its crimson form stretching and thinning as it leapt into the Flask, vanishing into its innards.
The remaining canine did not follow, its eyes fixed on the heavy oak doors, still waiting for its opportunity to pursue the prey that had yet to arrive.
I looked back at Felicity. “You’re bleeding on the marble.”
She glanced down at the drips at her feet. “So I am. How careless. The vampire I wanted put up more of a fight than I anticipated.” She pressed a hand to her side, and her fingers came away red. “But I got him in the end.”
“Him?” Noir whispered. He craned his neck against the rope, squinting at Felicity’s captive. “Look at that scrawnycreature. That's Lord Farquhar. I've had coughs more threatening. Standards in this House are dropping faster than a lead pigeon. He looks like he still asks for permission to take a nibble, while monsters like me enjoy a good bite.”
He shot me a suggestive wink, utterly shameless. My cheeks heated, despite where we were. He wasdifferent, no question, but also strikingly handsome when he smiled like that.
“If I promise you bananas, will you be a good boy?” I whispered.
Noir barked and mimicked an attentive dog’s sit, eyes wide and expectant.
Mathias cleared his throat, his gaze soft on Felicity. “Do you need a healer, Lady Felicity?”
She shook her head and drew a steadying breath. “I’ll be all right, Lord Regent.”
“If that is the case, then let us begin,” he said. “Tierney Sutcliffe, step forward.”
Tierney advanced, her posture straight as a drawn blade. With the controlled force of a commander presenting a seized asset, she brought her captive into the torchlight. The nobleman stumbled but stayed upright, his ruined silks hanging in tatters.
“This is Lord Varos, a House of Whispers councilman.” She circled him. “He thought his walls and guards would keep him safe. They did not.”
A ripple of amusement moved through the gallery.
Mathias regarded her, his voice carrying easily across the chamber. “The Flask approves.”
Tierney gripped the nobleman’s chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. “You’ll serve me.”
