Mark of Betrayal (Dark Secrets #3)(85)
Author: A.M. Hudson

I reached my arm out, keeping my eyes shut, and closed my fist softly around the dewy grass, while the distant lashing of a wild ocean forced a painful smile onto my lips. I’d not heard the ocean for days. I never went to see that lighthouse—never got to sit on the roof and watch the day wear on. Never even had the chance to tell Arthur that David was alive. I would. If I could go back, I’d tell him, so that maybe his heart could be free. And Mike, I’d tell him how sorry I was for breaking his heart, and even admit that he was always right—that I needed to listen to him more often.

As I rubbed one foot over the other to scratch off an irritating bug, I frowned at the feel of fabric, like rustling silk mixed with cotton, but weighty—stacked on top of me.

I rolled up on my elbows and looked down. A black dress, fitted to the waist, sprawled out around me like a pool of black blood, and all along my arms, the Markings gleamed against my perfect white skin.

As golden sunlight shifted across the long grass, following some imaginary path of duty, I saw a tree—at the centre of a field. Jason’s field.

I must have died—or knocked myself unconscious.

Leaning on one elbow, I reached across my body and pinched my own arm—and it hurt.

I looked up at the tree again. This world was too real to be Jason’s—the undertone of fogginess it came with wasn’t looming. This was bright. Fresh. Flavoured like a summer morning.

I shot to my feet and watched the dawn sun travel over my toes and ankles, up the fabric of my dress, making it orange, and finally, over my hands—brightening the ancient symbols—my promise in ink. But it slipped past me quickly, heading for the border of the forest.

Dawn.

I had to run. I had to make it through to the other side—to the manor, the Throne Room—to my people. It wasn’t too late. But if the light touched that tree line, I’d never make it out of that forest.

I hitched my dress up and ran, racing the rise of the sun. And as I came upon the forest, stepped a little more cautiously, holding my hands up as if to ward off something evil. “I command you not to trap me in here for eternity,” I said to it, and my fingertips became warm. I walked carefully through the trees; they huddled together like frightened children, and as I lifted my dress above my feet, noticed that my toes, my nails, my ankles, everything was clean—polished, as if I’d never left.

And maybe that was right. Maybe I never left. Maybe I never really went anywhere at all, because everything I needed to find was already in me.

A breath of composure filled my lungs and cooled my soul as I slowed to a walk, making my heart settle its erratic beat. I closed my eyes, wearing a soft smile, breaking free of the forest just as the orange sun touched the canopy.

Each step I took over the grass felt like walking on clouds; my powers were back, I could feel them. I could feel myself almost floating, as if gravity had forgotten me.

I watched, waiting for someone in the faceless crowd to notice I was here, and as the sun came past the trees, sinking down the canopy and out through the trunks, everyone turned their heads, one by one—shock drinking their eyes, moving to their lips in a smile.

I finally reached the top of the small hill, and each subject, barely able to contain the applause, laid a path of white roses at my feet. I walked right over them, feeling them break beneath me, but the thorns did not cut; my feet had grown stronger—torn down to be built back up. Nothing would ever break me again. I had proven my worth. I made it.

Arthur’s face showed among the blur, and he bowed to me, receiving the warmest smile I owned. In his heart, I could almost hear him say I never doubted you. And I appreciated that. Because I knew he was the only one who never did.

As I walked through the doors of the Throne Room, Lilith’s marble columns seemed to greet me, and, for some reason, I didn’t mind that they were fake—not structural, because it was what people saw that really counted. They saw a Throne Room, they saw a princess walk the red carpet, and in that, they saw a future. It didn’t matter what foundations the lie had been built on, as long as it stayed solid. As long as it was real to them.

The white roses stopped below the first step to my throne, but as I made it to the top, saw one red rose on the seat; I reached out and grabbed it, looking up quickly when I felt its thornless stem. And as I turned back to face my people, searched the crowd for David, knowing he was out there—somewhere.

A man in a long burgundy cloak stepped up beside me, and as he placed a small, uninteresting gold circle atop my head, an intensely warm surge of blood heated my skin under the inscription of my promise—igniting the dense black to a brilliant, glowing blue, as if a tiny light shone from behind each word. My blood pulsed and shifted under the burn, but I smiled, clenching my fists, focusing on the cold rose in my hand.

My David. He’s here—watching. He’s actually here.

The fire receded and a unified gasp filled the court as the Markings discoloured—fading into my skin.

The oath was complete. My promise, eternal.

I started this journey as a young girl, and now, stood before my people as something so much more.

This is the path.

This is the question.

I am the answer.

I am faith.

I am hope.

I am Queen.

Chapter Eleven

As instructed by the old cronies who really run the show around here, for the entire three hours of my very first Court session, I nodded, smiled, glanced at Walter Moustache Man for an answer and ruled everything according to his and the Councils’ wishes. In future, I’d probably look to Mike or Falcon, but since they and my other three knights were off completing their sacrificial rights, you know, kneeling in prayer and all that, I only had Emily, Eric, Morg and the House. And Arthur, but he’d nodded only once in opinion and it was on something very minor. I knew he felt it wasn’t his place to say, and that was true, he had no real business giving me advice unless he was on my council, but I trusted his opinion.

I sat back in my chair, listening to the last dregs of this Lilithian’s complaint, trying not to look utterly exhausted. But the Walk of Faith was still thick in my bones and my emotions, and, a few times, I’d even had to resist the urge to break down and cry. I felt dirty—like I was still covered in blood and muck from the forest floor, but each time I looked down at my hands, was surprised to see perfectly trimmed, perfectly clean nails.

But things were winding down. From what I could tell, we had about two or three cases left to deal with—then I could rest for a few hours before the ball.