Page 16 of Consort's Glory
She was a healer. She could compartmentalize. There was no reason to think about Theodore’s scent in her lungs, or his fangs sliding against her skin, or the bite of his claws. None.
Margot watched, reluctantly fascinated, as Theodore’s lightning fast fingers typed a code into the keypad by the row of ordinary buttons. A retinal scanner came next, then a small green light blinked as the elevator began to rise.
When he turned back to her, Theodore explained, “We have extremely tight security on the private floors, Healer Goode. No one can get in or out without an escort keyed into the system — yourself included.”
She eyed the keypad. “Will I get a code?” Will you ever let me leave?
Theodore didn’t touch her, but she felt him step closer, his arm nearly brushing hers. “When I can be assured of your safety, yes.” Ignoring her arch look, he added, “It’s for your protection. Once you are on the family floor, you will be under some of the most extensive security in the UTA. You will be safer than you have ever been in your life. As soon as I have assembled a permanent guard for you, there’s no reason you can’t go in and out at will. But your safety comes first.”
Safety, surrounded by elves? Maybe, if she were normal. Maybe, if her magic wasn’t frying her from the inside out. Maybe, if elves didn’t once suck the marrow from the bones of witches for an after-supper treat.
The elevator glided to a smooth, almost soundless stop.
The doors slid back, revealing a narrow, white-walled hallway. It was shockingly barren except for the tiny black lenses in each corner.
Cameras? But that wasn’t much protection. If someone was determined to get to the armored door on the other side of the hall, what would cameras do to stop them?
They were already halfway down the hall before she bothered to glance up.
Red.Not evenly spread out, not uniform in color or consistency, but red.
Sigils,she thought, the breath sucked out of her lungs. Thousands and thousands of sigils — all written in blood.
The room carried no tell-tale scent, but there was no mistaking it. The heart of her, the part full of incomprehensible power, recognized the threat in those bloody, overlapping lines.
Most protection spells were done with one’s own blood, but Margot knew that wasn’t Solbourne blood painting the ceiling. It couldn’t be.
Elves bled blue.
Her stomach turned. Whatever those sigils did, she was certain it was too gruesome to contemplate. No one made so many sacrifices, painted with that much gore, without packing as much menace into their spells as possible.
Just passing under it made her hair stand on end. An enemy would never make it through that hallway in one piece.
The hallway wasn’t long, but by the time they made it to the imposing metal door on the other side, she felt like the bloody sigils had migrated from the ceiling to live beneath her skin.
When she glanced at Theodore, she found him watching her, his expression solemn. “My father,” he explained, gesturing to the ceiling. “Paranoia is a remarkable thing.”
Margot barely contained a shudder. Yes, that makes sense. She didn’t know anything about Theodore Solbourne, but she didn’t get the feeling that he was the blood-sacrificing kind.
Thaddeus Solbourne II and one of the key players in the Great War,however, very much was.
There was a pause, then the whirring of gears and dull thud of bolts disengaging from deep within the door. It was more of a vault than anything, but Margot didn’t care. She just wanted to get out of that hallway. The buzz of cold, hungry magic in her ears was enough to make her look at even the most sinister decor as welcoming.
The door swung open on its own, revealing what she expected the interior of the Tower to look like — rich woods, high ceilings, low, tasteful light to illuminate massive oil paintings. The air held the faint traces of scent, stale but numerous, all with that rich undertone that was purely elvish.
Still, still, she picked him out immediately.
Spicy cinnamon and cedar. A thin, golden thread for her to follow — if only she wanted to end up on the business end of his claws.
The fact that she didn’t immediately recoil at the prospect made her question just how much damage the bomb might have done to her brain. Her steps stuttered. “Is this… Am I in your personal quarters?”
She watched in dismay as Kaz tilted his head toward Theodore, silently communicating something, before he stalked off, his huge body moving with terrifying grace.
Theodore glanced down at her. “Yes. I told you I was going to keep you safe, didn’t I?” A coil of tension pulled taut in her stomach when he added, “You’re stuck with me now.”
“I can’t stay in your personal quarters,” she insisted. “That’s not… That’s improper.”
“Improper?” He bit his lip with a single, deadly fang. Releasing it slowly, he said, “There’s nothing improper about it. However, if you’d like me to show you what improper really means, I’d be happy to.”
