Blood Prophecy by Alyxandra Harvey

Author:Alyxandra Harvey
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Solange

“I was in love,” Viola said, looking melancholy and defenseless. “Surely I have a right to be happy. Madame Veronique stole that from me.” A single tear trembled on her lower lash before falling down her cheek. “I didn’t even know what she’d done to my beloved Tristan until I was already dead, until there was no hope for us at all.”

I’d feel a lot sorrier for her if she wasn’t such a psychotic bitch.

“What about all those people at Bornebow Hall?” I asked.

“That was . . . an accident.” Her regret seemed genuine, even if it weighed a lot less than her selfish need for Constantine. Her lower lip trembled. “I didn’t know what I was. I woke up covered in blood.”

That part I could almost forgive. If she’d had no idea she was changing, how would she know how to leash the hunger? I was still struggling and I’d had centuries of practice essentially encoded in my DNA. Mind you, I’d been dealing with both of our needs without even realizing it.

“I saw what you did,” I replied steadily. “Even before Veronique was involved.”

“We could be great together,” she said. “We could be queen. Not even our grandmother could stop us.”

“I have no intention of being stuck with you forever,” I told her, the light flaring through my silver cord. It felt like tiny electrical shocks pinging through my belly, like someone was yanking it from the other end. “And how many times do I have to say it? I don’t want to be freaking queen of the freaking vampires.”

“Forget the crown then,” she said, proving that it was secondary to her plans. We’d been right in thinking the crown was just a symbol, something that focused her will. That’s all magic is, in the end. Focused will. I remember Isabeau telling me that once. “I only want Tristan. We deserve a chance to be together.”

“Not more than Kieran and I deserve to be together. Not more than my family and my friends deserve their own happiness.”

Her maiden-in-distress mask crumpled like poorly fired clay. “She took him from me,” she hissed. Bats circled, squeaking. She flicked her fingers, sending them dive-bombing my way. I held up my palm and they stopped as if hitting an invisible wall. If I had to carry her sins, I’d damn well take my compensation with her other gifts. She snarled. “She killed me, did she tell you that?”

“Madame Veronique didn’t tell me anything about you,” I murmured, watching blood pour out of the tree behind her. It trickled through the grass toward her feet, staining the hem of her kirtle. I remembered her walking through the tournament camp looking very similar. “She was ashamed of you and erased your name from our family tree.”

I knew it would enrage her. I’d spent long enough walking through her memories and trapped in her head to know which buttons to push. And Dad always says, if you act in anger you lose the battle.

“I only did what she made me do.

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