“Then . . . do you know what Drake wants with my child?”
“No. But I have a theory.”
“I’m listening,” I said, my voice peaking with interest.
“Lilith killed Anandene, and eventually promised her own child to Drake as a means to end the suffering he caused in return. But why does he want her child as repayment for what she did to his wife?”
I shrugged. “Seems like an odd exchange.”
“Right. Unless he planned to use the powerful blood of his immortal sister to restore the untethered soul of his beloved.”
My face went numb. “Restore?”
“I told you once that immortal souls are the one’s that reincarnate?”
“Yes, unless the connection was severed.”
“Right. Well, Anandene’s body was killed, not necessarily her soul.”
“So . . .how . . . I mean—” I thought about all that. “He wants to . . . what? Reincarnate Anandene?”
“Or insert her soul into your newborn child.”
My mouth dropped.
“It would explain the queer requirements of conception,” he added. “The fact that it had to be born from the purest blood of a nobleman’s son. And it explains why Drake has kept Safia, a known Vampirian enemy, around all these years.”
“What would a witch have to do with a baby and a soul insertion?”
“He needs her to complete the ritual.”
“Ritual?” That sounded so much scarier than using the words soul insertion, conjuring up images of lightning and stone tables and long cloaks. “Is . . . is this kind of thing possible?”
Arthur nodded. “Drake performed this ritual once before. But it failed.”
“Well, who was it? What happened?”
“I know only a few details, but it has been whispered that Drake attempted it on his mother’s soul.”
“So . . . what happened to her then?”
“I do not know, princess.” He folded his fingers together on the table. “I do know that a certain kind of magic runs in his veins, in any born immortal’s veins, but he would not have the power to perform such a spell. He needs a witch—needs Safia, and I fear that, once he’s done with her, he plans to dispose of her.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I said, then rolled my wrist out. “I mean, aside from the obvious—her being dead.”
“Safia will not go easily. She would be only too aware what Drake plans for her, and she will be taking steps to prevent this.”
“Like what?”
Arthur sat back, resting his knuckles by his lips, studying me as if considering how much to disclose. “She may be looking for an immortal vessel of her own, possibly the one Drake plans to take from you.”
I touched my belly. “So, she’s going to insert herself into my baby?”
Arthur nodded once, his eyes lost in thought. “After all my research and contemplation, this is my latest conclusion.” He reached across the table for my hand; I placed it in his. “Of course, I could be very, very wrong.”
I squeezed his hand and sat back. “It sounds pretty scary. But also very plausible. What did David say?”
“He said it was of no consequence—said that Drake would be dead before it was a problem.”
“But even if we kill Drake, what about Safia?”
Arthur laughed. “If he’s not around to kill her, she won’t need a new body.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “So, if we kill Drake, does that void the contract?”
“Yes. If you kill him with the dagger.”
“Why? Why not just kill him with venom?”
“Because, my dear, think back. Try to remember what I told you.”
He gave me a second to think about it.
“That the dagger severs the connection of the immortalised soul from this world,” he said. “If you simply kill Drake, his soul will reincarnate, or could possibly be transferred into another immortal body later, and the contract will be reinstated.”
“So the contract is bound to his soul?”
“And to Lilith’s.”
I exhaled, my shoulders sinking. “Falling on her descendants until it’s fulfilled.”
“Yes.”
“Damn.” I rested my head in my palms. “I was really hoping to find a way around using that dagger.”
“As was David, my dear. He and I have exhausted all these options.”
“Why didn’t he tell me about the whole soul insertion ritual?”
“Because it is only a theory at this point, and David does act on a whim. I came up with this theory, but I—” He laughed, jerking his head toward the fireplace and the stack of books beside it. “I may have spent too long poring over fantasy.”
I slowly looked back from the books. “So, what do we do?”
“Like I said: focus on what we know, protect your unborn child and, rather than dig through the depths of Drake's lies and plans, kill him.”
“And kill David in the process.” My sharp words travelled across the oak top of Arthur’s table and hit him right in the heart, making his body shudder.
“I lost him once.” He looked down. “And I swore I would not lose him again. But it seems we are left with little choice.”
And that left only one thing to gain in David’s Inventory of Death. “So you’ll give him the right dagger?”
“You have my word.”
I nodded once and, feeling the rise of emotions I just wanted to control, placed both hands on the tabletop, stood slowly, and walked away.
“Amara?”
I stopped, holding the door ajar.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” I said, and as the door closed behind me, the tears I could hold no longer streamed down my face. I felt like a leaf in a pond, held down by a stick—too tired to come back up, too alive to just sink down and give up.
“Ara.” Blade left his guard post and scooped me up in a warm embrace. “Don’t cry, little queen. Please, don’t cry.”
“I can’t lose him, Blade. I can’t do this,” I sobbed into his shirt, my arms and hands shaking, so tight with grief my skin was red. “I’m not strong enough.”
“You are, don’t you know?” He placed a hand over the side of my face, cupping my ear firmly. “You’re stronger than anyone gives you credit for.”
“But I don’t want to be, Blade. Maybe if I wasn’t—maybe if David knew how bad this would hurt me, how much it would kill me, he wouldn’t go. He wouldn’t—”