Only instead of a meal laid atop the table, there was a girl.
She was alive.
It was Frost.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Bodies jostled behind me. Crap. I’d started something. Guys were on my heels, following me in. Sheep, all of them.
The drumming was even louder now. I glanced from my roommate to the incoming tide of Trainees. Could I help her? I had to help someone, to do something. To take some action and assert my own humanity.
A hand shoved at my back, someone eagerly pushing past. Another hand, grabbing my arm, shoving me aside. They were filing in, focused only on getting nearer to the table.
To Frost.
She wore a long white robe and looked oddly serene for someone who was tied to a table. A small platform stood near her head, draped with a plush crimson cloth. A dagger rested on top, as did Frost’s weapon—that distinctive halberd that could be hers and hers alone.
Pity and sadness swamped me. Why was she so calm? Why wasn’t she fighting? Had she been drugged? Brainwashed? Or did Frost actually believe this was some great honor?
It’d be just like my stupid vamp-loving roommate to believe she was being rewarded. She’d embraced the vampires, giving them her all—her faith, her efforts, her zeal. It was tragic that this girl who’d imagined herself the vampires’ pet would, in the end, be so completely undone by them. And I had no doubts, she was about to be completely undone. If that dagger was any indication, it’d be in the most horrific of ways.
Poor Frost. Would anyone miss her? She’d had no friends. She’d suffered the torments of that boy—Marlin, was it?—she’d suffered in silence, believing it was right. That it was her place. The island had brainwashed her, and it was pathetic and tragic both.
Just as I was being brainwashed, a tiny, traitorous voice said in the back of my head. The only difference between Frost and me was that I was putting up more of a fight. Killing to keep myself alive was one thing, but killing out of spite was another thing entirely. It had to stop.
“Come, boys.” The voice resounded through the cavernous dining room, startling me from my thoughts. It was the woman who’d been speaking with Alcántara—I recognized her voice instantly. Sonja.
Was this what the Spanish vampire had been protecting me from? Would I have been trussed on a table for a bunch of Trainees to ogle? And what would happen if I were caught now?
“Come,” she said again, beckoning. Something about her voice mesmerized me.
I found myself wanting to go to her and stopped. Under my mask, I’d broken into a sweat. It took great effort not to glance her way. Because I wanted to look…how I longed to look, to catch just one glimpse. To see her.
The guys, though, they didn’t fight it. They swarmed her. I’d cursed them as they’d come in the room, but I was thankful now, hidden in the crush of bodies.
“Gather to me as we celebrate with this night of fire and life.” Something in that powerful voice resonated, calling to me. But I forced myself to stare blindly forward. I couldn’t catch her eye. There was no leaving now—I was stuck here. “Be here, with me,” she ordered. “Celebrate with me.” Did she sense that not all eyes were upon her? Her voice got richer, deeper, as she intoned, “Look upon me.”
I couldn’t fight it any longer. My eyes were drawn to her—I couldn’t not look. My eyes drank her in. She was not at all what I’d expected. She was magnetic. Breathtaking.
She was also a petite, white-haired girl, looking no older than fourteen.
I knew not to trust my eyes. This Sonja had been born hundreds of years ago. I felt it. Felt her power. It thrummed through the room. This was the one who wanted me, delivered by Alcántara like I was a take-out meal. This was Sonja, who’d carved the runes. Sonja, ruler of vampires.
Did that mean she was Vampire? Could women be vampires?
Her robe was a deep crimson, made of a fabric so fine, firelight danced across it, rippling along her body like she was made of the fire itself. She was irresistible. A lodestone at the front of the room. She was the pulse of the keep.
“Who among you knows the misericordia?” She raised her arms, and her sleeves fell back, revealing pale, thin arms and a dagger clutched in her hand. “Behold.” She held a dagger aloft. It was long and thin, its blade a delicate thing. “Behold the blade.”
I beheld, all right. I also beheld dozens of Trainees shuffling into the room, blocking off my exit as they did.
The guys began to chant, sonorous and rhythmic, in time with the drums. The sounds coalesced, their meaning becoming clear. Sonja.
Panic swelled in me as boys’ bodies jostled me. I stood tall. Tried to project an air of guy-ness.
They chanted for her, and I had to bite my tongue not to be swept in. The smoke was affecting me again, and I panted in several quick breaths. But it was Sonja’s hypnotic power that was the greatest threat of all. I focused on the strange disconnect between that deep intoning voice and her diminutive child’s body. It helped me regain some of my wits.
“Misericordia,” she repeated, and the room fell instantly silent. “It comes from misereri, to pity. And cordis.” She touched a hand to her breast. “The heart.” She paused long enough in the silent room that I began to freak out someone might hear my own galloping pulse. “This is the giver of mercy,” she said finally, easing the dagger back down. With every movement, firelight caught and shimmered along the fine blade. “It was used by knights of old to give a quick and merciful death to their foes.”
She extended Frost’s hands up to the top of the table, then ran her fingers down my roommate’s arm slowly, almost sensually. “The misericordia delivers one final gift,” she purred. “A good death.”
A good death…what a stupid Viking thing to say.
She gazed at the misericordia. “This blade is fine enough to pierce armor. Precise enough to pierce the heart at a single stroke.”
Or to stake vampires, I thought savagely.
I hung back as much as I could, terrified now. I couldn’t stay. But I couldn’t leave either. I was utterly enthralled, desperately curious. And anyway, leaving would draw too much attention. I could only hope this ritual didn’t involve removing one’s mask, because then I’d really be toast.
“This very blade was the weapon of the first Initiate,” Sonja continued. “The first Acari fought with this. Died by this. She gave her heart so that you could have an immortal body.”
An immortal body, but what of the soul? Did the vampires sacrifice that in addition to innocent girls?
Sonja placed the tip of the blade at Frost’s armpit and rolled her eyes back in her head. She began to chant, repeating an Icelandic word I recognized. Epli…epli…epli…
Apple.
A conversation shot into my head—ironically, it was an argument I’d had with Frost. Ever since she’d seen the runes I’d transcribed—the runes she’d accused of being incorrect—she’d taken every opportunity to mock me about them.
“A girl ruling vampires,” she’d jeered. “As if.”
“What do you mean as if? Who wouldn’t want to be Vampire?”
Her expression was pure scorn. “As if women could have such power.”
That set my hackles up. Why couldn’t women be powerful? “There were powerful goddesses in your precious Poetic Edda,” I said. “Like…like Idun.” I’d remembered the name then—it was fresh in my mind from a chapter we’d just covered in Dag’s class. Idun was a goddess in the Norse pantheon, who’d kept apples and was eternally youthful.
“Actually, Idun”—she’d used an elaborate accent to pronounce it the correct Iðunn—“appears primarily in the Prose Edda, not the Poetic.”
“Whatever, Audra.”
And on we’d went…
Was this ritual about Idun? For all I knew, the goddess was alive and well, running around Valhalla—seeing Sonja had made the most impossible notion possible.
“Epli…epli…epli…” they chanted, and it must’ve struck a chord with Frost, too, because I saw a fleeting moment of panic in her eyes. There and gone.
“Are you ready, dear Acari?” Sonja traced a tender finger down Frost’s cheek, and my roommate didn’t move. She looked paralyzed, but whether by fear, hypnosis, or the cloying smoke, I didn’t know. “Are you ready for your good death?”
Apparently, Sonja didn’t care about her answer, because she turned her attention back to the crowd. “Women are the givers of immortality. Beginning with the goddess Idun, whose apple granted eternal life.”
Bingo.
Sonja looked so peaceful, so calm, so triumphant.…I could tell something very bad was about to happen. I held utterly still, holding my breath, clenching my teeth till my jaw throbbed.
“You must thank this young woman for her sacrifice,” she said. “Come, partake of the young Initiate. It is through the apple of her flesh that you will experience Idun’s deathless power.”
And then she plunged her blade into Frost. Oh God, oh God. I wanted desperately to look away, but couldn’t.
“Consume,” she shouted. “Consume and know immortality.”
Her face bloomed into the most magnificent smile as she thrust deeper still. My roommate seized once, her body arching and stiffening on the table, before sagging into death.
“Epli,” Sonja was chanting, over and over, and the Trainees’ voices rose to match hers. The drums pounded wildly now. “Celebrate, dear children. Celebrate this night upon which you ascend to the next level. Thank this girl for her gift.”
A chorus of male voices rose around me.
She turned her loving attention to Frost’s chest and— Oh God, her heart. I was desperate to look away, to shut out this ghoulish scene, but was too terrified of what the consequences might be. She was going to do something to Frost’s heart. Her voice cried above the din, “Thank Idun for her immortality.”
