Drink Deep - Chloe Neill [69]
“That must have been fascinating,” Jonah said, but Claudia was unmoved.
“We care little for politics, for shifting of alliances and changing of guards. They do no service to longevity, to loyalty, to honor.” She looked away, staring blankly across the room.
As she did, the food on the table disappeared again, leaving only the scattering of rose petals behind. I reached out and traced my finger across one; I wasn’t sure about the food, but the petal was definitely real.
“The lives of humans are transient,” she said. “You connect yourselves to them, and you can only expect the same of your own lives.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Jonah reminded her. “I assume you know about the sky?” I noticed he kept his tone light, carefully not mentioning the fact that my de facto master had sent us here to accuse Claudia of being behind the transformations.
“The sky is no concern of yours.”
“It is when the sky is burning and humans believe vampires are responsible. And now the water has darkened for the second time.”
She arched a delicate eyebrow. “The problems of humans have nothing to do with the sky. Nor are they reflected there.”
Jonah and I shared a glance. Was she unaware? Had she not looked outside? Although now that I thought of it, I couldn’t hear the crash of lightning in the tower. That was odd.
I stole a glance at the guards and checked their expressions. A bit of guilt, I thought, and maybe a little malice. Maybe they’d dissuaded her from opening the door. Shielded her from the happenings outside, not unlike Rapunzel in her tower.
“My lady,” Jonah said, “with all due respect, you may wish to look outside and see the world for yourself. The sky isn’t normal, and we don’t know why.”
There was indecision in her eyes—only for a second, but still there. The debate whether to acknowledge a vampire and look foolish, or refuse Jonah’s request and risk discovering the same information later.
“It is not so easy as that,” she said. “I cannot look outside. The rules of your world do not apply here, not to me.”
“What rules?” I wondered.
She slid me a disdainful glance. “I am an ancient one, child. I have lived more lifetimes than you can even conceive. But we are not an immortal race. I survive in my tower because I am protected here.”
Not unlike the portrait of Dorian Gray, I thought. That explained why she didn’t know about the sky.
“Nevertheless,” she said, “I have companions to advise me of matters of which I should be aware.” She offered a nasty look to the guards, then strode across the room to a table.
She picked up a clear glass orb the size of a grapefruit and held it in front of her at chest height. She closed her eyes and began to murmur words beneath her breath. The language wasn’t one I’d heard before, but the room filled again with dusty magic, the magic of ancient books and antique tapestries.
Slowly, she released her hands, and the sphere floated in the air in front of her, spinning slowly on an invisible axis. She opened her eyes again and watched it spin. Whatever she saw there, she didn’t like it.
Her eyes widened, and she let out a banshee-esque scream. The spell broken, the globe hit the floor and shattered into a spill of glass.
“The sky is bleeding!” she said, then flipped her head around, strawberry locks framing her face, to glare at her guards. They cowered at her murderous expression.
“I have seen it,” she said. “I have seen the bleeding sky, the dark water. The city drips of elemental magic, and you thought not to tell me?”
The guards looked at each other. “My lady,” one quietly began, “we only just learned, and we didn’t want to concern you.”
“You didn’t want to concern me? We are the sky folk. We master the moon and sun. You didn’t think I should be called upon?”
My stomach fell—and not just from the burgeoning magic in the room. This was our third attempt to connect the supernatural dots, and we still hadn’t managed to do it. Not only had the fairies not caused the