1
HARLOW
The Drained are at the city gates again. I can’t hear their claws scraping the metal bars or see their ghastly pale faces, but the distant bells ring loud enough to warn the citizens of Lunameade to take shelter.
It’s disconcerting that the Drained are out so soon after sunset. While the sun doesn’t hurt them, they usually prefer to wait until the deepest part of the night to come looking for blood.
I lean farther out the manor window, squinting into the night to spot any breaks in the blue holy fire that covers the top of the city walls, straining to listen to figure out which gate they’re storming.
They come to South Hold most often, so I’m used to hearing the havoc in my backyard along with the low-pitched ring of the bell at the South Gate. But tonight, they’re farther west—Southwest Hold, from the sound of the slightly higher-pitched vibration.
Lunameade was designed for siege. Everyone in the city lives and dies by the pattern of those bells. The solid, steady signal clang means the bloodthirsty are at the gates. It’s the first in a series of signals to indicate how serious the attack is. Two clangs in a row would indicate a breach, signaling that every civilian in that quadrant of the city should fall back to the first set of safety doors. Three would signal that the safetydoors are breached and they must fall back to the second set of safety doors.
One loud clang and then the warning bells go silent. I wait.
The first survival skill we learn is how to run. The second is how to listen. These bell patterns are burned into the brains of everyone in Lunameade because knowing the slightest variance could be the difference between life and death.
The rapid, high-pitched tinkling of the safety bells sounds.
I blow out a breath of relief. The threat has been dealt with—for the third time this week. The city is safe, or at least safer. For now.
Most people won’t wander tonight. They’ll stay tucked in their homes, unless, of course, they’re my family members, or any of the other high magical houses forced to attend this wretched dinner.
I grab my flask and dash out into the hallway. I don’t want to be late, but I also don’t want to be there any longer than I have to be. I take a swig from the flask and pause at the end of the long hallway.
Alcohol normally blunts the sharp edges of my moods, but tonight the burn of booze in my chest does little more than send my already fluttering heart into a more frenzied rhythm. I tuck the flask into a large plant next to the hall table and stare at my reflection, giving my pale cheeks a pinch.
“That’s as good as it’s going to get. Pinch all you like. You’ll never be quite as lovely as your older sister.”
I jump, my breath catching in my chest as I turn and behold Aidia.
“Nonsense,” I say. “I look just like you.”
She stands so that half her body is shadowed by the corner of the wall that leads to the back stairwell, the rest in chandelier light that cascades over her left cheek and shines on her sleek black hair. The relief and joy of seeing her for the first time in a month is dampened by the fact that she won’t turn toward the light so I can see her full face. She’s always hiding it from me. Ever since our parents married her off to that monster. Ever since the beatings started.
“I didn’t know you would be here,” I say, finally regaining my senses.
“Mother insisted this was an all-hands-on-deck dinner. Couldn’t do it without all her children.” Aidia waves her hand down the hallway toward the sound of glass clinking so casually—like she hasn’t beensequestered to North Hold for the past year—like her husband has allowed her to attend more than a handful of events.
The chandeliers cast an elaborate mandala of light on the dark wood floor, and Aidia traces the pattern with the silk toe of her shoe.
“Any chance you know what this unscheduled dinner is about?” I ask. “I’ve enjoyed getting to avoid so many of them lately.”
“Ah, yes, on account of your broken heart.”
I fake a pout. “I can’t believe you would doubt how much I miss my beloved…”
Aidia’s lips twitch into a smirk at my long pause. “Marc.”
I snap. “Marc! It was on the tip of my tongue. I’m so bereft I nearly forgot his name.”
“May the Divine Asher deliver his soul safely beyond the veil,” Aidia says sarcastically.
“As long as he’s delivered far from me,” I counter.
Aidia glances down the hallway again, and I know she’s dreading this performance as much as I am. It’s the burden of being a Carrenwell.
Part of the reason our family stays in power is because we act as a unit. We only display magic when we’re all together, so it’s impossible for anyone to tell who is doing what. My father will not abide someone spotting our weaknesses. I used to think my parents were paranoid, but the sheer number of attempts on our lives over the last few years has made it clear that their fears are warranted.
