-3-
It was the day of the party and I couldn’t contain my excitement.
I stared out the window at the sun-kissed valley and grinned. No matter how beautiful the underground city was, I loved sunlight and fresh air. Not that the air in the city was stale. Sir Malax had explained about the ventilation system. Since I was forbidden to explore the city, I’d found a spot by the ground-floor window where I could watch the children and their parents on the playgrounds unobserved. Watch and envy them their freedom. Today, I was finally going to mingle with others.
There were so many people on the grounds and I was bombarded by their excitement, further confirming that I was an empath. I fought the insane urge to teleport to the grounds and mingle with them. Run around barefoot on the lush grass and pick up flowers. Talk to people like a normal person without the bowing and “Princess, do you want this” and “Princess, do you need that.”
People were erecting something huge to the left of the castle. It was so tall and wide, it blocked the waterfalls. Colorful tents dotted the grounds under it. I couldn’t wait to mingle. Maybe I’d see the green-eyed guy who’d winked at me.
I hadn’t seen him since the kitchen. Maybe Malax had thrown him in the dungeons. I was sure there was a law against minions winking at the daughters of the king.
I chose to test my powers despite my father’s warning not to. I looked at my bed, kept the image in my head, and closed my eyes.
Teleport to bed.
One second I was seated on a cushion by the window, the next I was floating. I opened my eyes, but I couldn’t see me. Instead, I was surrounded by energies of various objects in my room.
Lady Nemea never said I could float around. I just assumed I’d hop from one place to the next. She’d also said I had to know exactly where I was going. Maybe I teleported differently. My way was much cooler. I could control my teleport, go slow or go faster. Maybe I could float out the window and drift away without anyone noticing I was gone.
No, better stick to shorter distances.
I reappeared on my bed and grinned. Next, I tried the bathroom, which meant going through the wall. It felt weird, ticklish. The bathroom lights were off, but with the glow from the objects in the room, I knew where everything was. I drifted back to my bed and reappeared. Laughing, I bounced on the bed.
“That was easy,” I mumbled to myself.
Telepathy wasn’t. The people I pinged were rude. A few times, I thought I felt a ping, but no one telepathed me, so I just listened to people’s thoughts and soaked in their excitement. Occasionally, despair mingled with the euphoria, but it was faint, as though coming from far away or from the dungeons.
“Meditating, little sis?” Solange asked from behind me.
I was pissed at her. I never saw her except at dinnertime. Even then, she ate quickly and was out the door. If she were in my position, I would have visited her, maybe even sneaked her out of the castle or something. Instead, I’d been stuck inside these four walls for days and she hadn’t even cared.
“I’m eavesdropping on people’s thoughts while thinking up ways to make you suffer,” I said, turned, and realized she wasn’t alone. With her were the two girls from her pictures. The blonde’s condescending smirk sent a feeling of déjà vu through me.
The brunette laughed. “She’s funny.”
“Yeah, she’s a hoot,” Solange retorted. “What did I do?”
I wanted to whine about being confined in the castle but decided against it. I shrugged. “Nothing.”
Solange frowned. “If you are pissed because I’m never around, I’m sorry, little sis. I work. This is Kimber”—she pointed at the blonde, then the brunette—“and Riesa. They are my friends. And they”—she indicated five other women in the doorway—“are here to pretty you up.”
“I don’t need to be prettied.”
She laughed and her friends joined in. My face warmed. “You are about to be officially introduced to the Hermonite Nation. Believe me, you’ll want to look your best.”
In minutes, I was getting a manicure and pedicure while someone did something to my hair. Solange issued instructions about hair and makeup like a drill sergeant, then went into my closet and called Lady Nemea every name imaginable before “fixing” my clothes again. Lady Nemea had brought someone to change them back to their original colors. To be honest, I preferred Solange’s warmer colors.
“Tell Lady Nemea not to touch your clothes again,” Solange told me before she and her friends left. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
Lady Nemea wasn’t amused when she saw my clothes.
“Where is she?” she demanded.
I shrugged. “In her room. It’s okay about my clothes.”
“No, it’s not. That’s too much makeup; wipe it off,” she ordered the women. “She has gorgeous eyes that don’t need to be enhanced, so no eye shadow, just mascara. Use gloss instead of lipstick and very little blusher.”
Lady Nemea marched to Solange’s bedroom. Within seconds, her voice and Solange’s reached from my closet. They must have teleported there. This wasn’t even about my dresses. There was bad blood between them, and they were using me to stick it to each other. It was so stupid.
“Excuse me.” I got up, their voices getting louder as I crossed my bedroom.
“Your father wants Lilith to look a certain way,” Lady Nemea said. “You know, innocent…harmless.”
“Innocent and harmless?” Solange asked in an incredulous voice. I wasn’t sure whether the idea that I could be innocent and harmless shocked her, or the fact that my father would want me to appear that way. “That girl out there is…” she mumbled the rest of her words.
Lady Nemea said something in response, but I didn’t catch it. I inched closer and strained to hear her next words. “Your father didn’t want you involved because he wants the two of you to get along. Not a repeat of the past.”
Repeat of the past? What past? Solange mumbled something.
“The people don’t trust her, Solange. Some think she shouldn’t be here. Others believe she’s a spy for the Guardians, just because she lived with them for so long. The way she appears tonight is important. She can’t be seen as a threat.”
“That’s nonsense! She looks like the wind might blow her away. How can they possibly think she’s a threat?”
“Because she’s a Special, Solange. Those of us who didn’t fight in the Great Battle know just how powerful she is. Maybe too powerful for one so young. We have to convince our people she’s not here to hurt them. That she’s one of us.”
“She’s not more powerful than me,” Solange retorted, sounding a little sulky.
“Of course not.”
There was silence.
Shocked, I left the bedroom and hurried back to the living room, where the women fixing me up were waiting. I was a threat? Too powerful? And what the heck was a Special? I didn’t say anything as the women went back to work, not even when Solange joined us to make sure I looked… right.
Innocent.
Non-threatening.
I didn’t care what dress they chose. I stood in front of the mirror and studied the results—minimal makeup, my hair falling in gentle waves down my back, and a white dress that flowed to the floor. I looked ethereal, delicate, and fragile as one of the butterflies my mother had embroidered on my bed canopy. All that was missing were wings.
The thought had barely entered my mind when Lady Nemea came out of the closet with a white cloak with red lining and draped it on my shoulders. It was longer than the dress.
“If you are cold, pull it to cover the front. Now just let it fall back.”
Just like wings. And despite what I had heard, I really did look nice. Sweet, even. The nude flats Lady Nemea chose added to the illusion of a barefooted sprite.
“You look amazing,” she said, stepping back.
“Perfect,” Solange said, but she couldn’t meet my eyes. “I think I might have a pearl haircomb she can borrow.” She disappeared and came back with one, which she tucked neatly above my right ear.
“Thank you,” I said, dying to ask her what else Lady Nemea had told her. Did we know each other while I lived with the Guardians? Maybe hated each other? Was that what Lady Nemea meant by a repeat of the past?
“Meet us downstairs when you’re dressed,” Lady Nemea added, glancing at Solange. “Your father wants to see both of you.”
Lady Nemea took me to Lord Valafar’s waiting room. She kept fussing with my dress, my hair. I was about to tell her to stop when his bedroom door opened and he stepped out, expensive-looking boxes in his hands.
He looked regal in a black-and-red ceremonial robe made of some heavy material. Around his neck was a gold neckpiece set with colorful jewels. I squinted and realized the stones made a raven behind a rising sun. It was the same crest that I’d seen on the security guard uniforms. Ravens must mean something to our people.
“Very nice, Lilith,” he said. “You chose well. I don’t recall seeing that hairpiece in your jewelry case.” He pointed at Solange’s borrowed comb.
“It’s Solange’s,” I said. “She let me borrow it.”
He nodded in approval. “That’s good. I have something for you, too.” He opened the top box to reveal a pearl necklace with a ruby heart pendant and a matching bracelet. The core of the pendant appeared to move like a trapped liquid.
“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 shivered, 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 sexy 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 Kass, great-grandson of Queen Coronis, King of the Hermonites, and Head of the Order of the Principalities,” 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 duchesses, 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 Principalities 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 identity—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?
He’s angry about something. When his eyes narrowed on Gavyn, I wondered whether I should have said that. We should feed him before he starts having thoughts like the woman next to him. She keeps imagining feeding on the entertainers.
Lord Valafar smiled. Most Nosferatus drink blood from the living—humans, minions, and animals—but they prefer humans.
I studied the woman. She was pretty, but fragile-looking. She’s a Nosferatu?
One of the few pure ones left. Her name is Iyana and seated to her right is Gabreel, her husband and the head of the House of Nosferatu.
The husband had the same smooth, marble-like complexion like his wife. He needs to use the bathroom.
Lord Valafar laughed out loud, drawing everyone’s attention. I’d never heard him laugh before. Since his eyes were on the contortionists on the floor, one would think he found the performers entertaining.
You are excused, my friend, I overheard him say.
Lord Gabreel teleported and came back a few minutes later. He tilted his head toward me and smiled. Thank you, Princess.
My gaze returned to Gavyn and caught him watching me again. I smiled.
He looked away. Either he didn’t like me, or something about me bothered him. Laughter from the audience drew my attention back to the floor, where a group of actors was having a mock battle.
Winged warriors battled those in black uniforms with red belts and cloaks. Black and red were colors I now associated with my people. Somehow, I knew this was a reenactment of the Great Battle. The winged people were presumably Archangels, except the entertainers’ wings had no feathers. Siding with them were men and women in white uniforms with broad, self-righteous grins on their faces. Guardians. They strutted and appeared to be showing off.
Boos filled the hall.
Then a flame-haired girl in a flowing white dress appeared and the room grew quiet. She walked past the Guardians and the Hermonites alike, a dagger with a wavy blade in her hand. The Guardians cowered in fear while the Hermonites followed her, until she faced the biggest archangel, a blond with massive wings.
“I dare you to fight me, Archangel Raphael,” she called out.
“You are nothing but a child. You can’t fight me. I am the mighty Archangel Raphael.” He flipped back his perfect blond hair, his wings lifting behind him.
More boos came from the audience.
“You underestimate me, Raphael,” the girl said, then she ran forward, dodging the archangel’s sword, flipping and teleporting until she landed behind him. In one smooth, continuous arc, she hacked off his wings. She raised her dagger in victory as the archangel fell to his knees.
Cheers filled the hall as the archangel lay dead at her feet. A chant rose in the air. At first, I wasn’t sure I was hearing right.
“Lilith… Lilith…”
The redhead was me? I glanced at my father. He grinned, his focus on the actors. Solange, on the other hand, watched me. Something in her eyes sent a chill through me. Then she winked, and I wondered if I’d imagined the hatred in her eyes.
“I curse you, Lilith, daughter of Lord Valafar,” the archangel whispered. “You shall not remember the day you defeated me, the mighty Archangel Raphael.” Lightning shot from his fingers and hit the girl.
Silence filled the room.
The archangel splayed his fingers and blasted everyone on the battlefield. “No one shall remember my humiliation.” Then he disappeared.
The audience jumped to their feet, clapping and chanting my name again. My face grew red. If everyone who fought in the Great Battle had their memories erased, how did they know I fought the archangel and defeated him?