Amara’s POV
I walked through the heavy oak doors of Moonscar Academy with my jaw set and my leather satchel slung over my shoulder.
Every step toward Elder Foster’ chambers felt like a march to an execution.
The ancient sconces flickered along the stone corridors.
The hallway was empty.
Every other vampire was in their evening studies, where I was supposed to be, where I wanted to be, because at least in class I could sense what was coming.
I knew what this was.
Dorian’s pure-blood family had finally gotten to the Council of Elders.
Someone had decided that a half-breed girl who put her fist through the face of a warrior’s son didn’t deserve to complete her bloodline education.
I had my speech half-ready before I touched the iron door knocker.
I knocked once.
Hard.
“Enter, Amara.”
I pushed the heavy door open.
Elder Foster sat behind his carved mahogany desk, a thick crimson folder squared up in front of him.
He gestured to the high-backed chair across from him.
Calm.
Not angry.
Not even a little.
That made the blood in my veins run colder, not warmer.
“Before you say anything,” I said, sitting down and gripping the carved armrests, “whatever Dorian told you, he started it.
I have witnesses.
I am not—”
“Amara.”
“—going to be punished for defending myself when he—”
“Amara.
Stop.”
I stopped.
He slid the folder across the polished wood toward me.
“This is not a disciplinary tribunal.”
I stared at the folder.
I didn’t touch it.
“Then what is it.”
“Open it.”
I flipped the leather cover back.
My bloodline records.
Page after page of them.
Marks.
Credits.
Ancient text examinations I had sat for alone in the drafty academy archives because no instructor had wanted to oversee a girl from the servant quarters.
Highlighted rows in gold ink.
“I don’t understand.”
“You have enough credits,” Foster said, “to complete your education.
Tonight, if you desire.
Technically, you earned your bloodline certification some time ago.
We simply didn’t process it.”
My head snapped up.
“What.”
“You’ve accumulated enough advanced study credits to satisfy every requirement the Vampire Council has for formal education.
Several times over, actually.” He folded his pale hands on the desk.
“You’re finished, Amara.
You don’t have to return tomorrow if you don’t want to.”
My mouth fell open.
I closed it.
“No.”
Foster tilted his head.
“No?”
“No.
Why now.” I leaned forward.
“Why tonight.
Why this evening.”
“Because it was brought to my attention—”
“By whom.”
He hesitated for the first time.
There it was.
“Was it Prince Killian.”
“Amara—”
“He’s been watching me everywhere.
And suddenly, tonight, I get yanked out of academy permanently.
Don’t tell me that’s a coincidence, Foster.
I wasn’t turned yesterday.”
Foster met my eyes and held them.
“This is not the Prince’s doing.
I reviewed the records myself.
You earned this.
Every credit.
Every mark.” He tapped the folder with one long finger.
“I will write you the strongest bloodline recommendation letter that has ever come from this academy.
Any clan you wish to petition.
Any position.
You have my word.”
I stared at him.
He did not blink.
I wanted to believe him.
I wanted it so desperately my chest ached.
I took the folder.
“Thank you, Foster.”
“Go see your mother,” he said quietly.
“I heard about the blood sickness.”
I was out of the chair before he finished the sentence.
The healing wing still felt like a mistake when the stone doors opened.
Silk tapestries.
Soft candlelight.
A blood servant in pressed white robes standing outside my mother’s chamber, arms crossed, looking like she was trying very hard not to laugh.
“—like a prisoner in a dungeon!
Do you understand me?
A prisoner!
I have work shifts to cover, girl, I have humans to tend—”
“Ma’am, the healer hasn’t examined you yet this evening—”
“Then summon him!
Summon him now!”
I walked in.
My mother was sitting up against the velvet pillows, her graying hair wild around her shoulders, one thin finger pointing at the servant.
Color was back in her cheeks.
Not much.
But some.
The servant turned to me with the patient, amused look of a woman who had dealt with my kind of stubborn before.
“She’s yours, I take it.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Good fortune to you.”
The servant slipped past me and out the door.
“Mother.”
“Amara.
Tell this woman I’m well.
Tell her I have duties.
Tell her—”
“Mother.” I sat on the edge of the bed.
I took her hand.
It was still too thin.
But it was warm.
“The healer hasn’t been in yet.
You are not leaving until he has examined you.”
“It’s nearly midnight.”
“I know.”
“Amara, the blood bank—”
“Mother.”
She stopped.
I squeezed her fingers.
“I have news.”
She went still.
“Good news or ill news.”
“Good, I believe.”
“Tell me.”
“Foster summoned me tonight.” I breathed out.
“I have enough credits.
I’m finished with academy.”
Of course they did.
“Oh, my darling.”
“I’m going to work through the winter,” I said quickly, before she could start.
“I need to save for housing.
Bloodline texts.
The petition fees alone—”
“Scholarships.”
“Mother.”
“You will receive every scholarship you petition for.
Every single one.
Do you hear me?”
“Mother, I just need to be realistic—”
“I am being realistic.” She gripped my hand with more strength than I’d thought she had left in her.
“You are the brightest girl in this clan.
The brightest girl in any clan.
And anyone who reads your records is going to see that.”
I kissed her knuckles so she wouldn’t see my face.
The healer finally arrived near dawn.
Against his strong counsel, my mother signed the release scrolls, insisting she couldn’t afford to miss more shifts at the blood bank.
I walked her back to our quarters in the servant wing, tucked her into bed, and held her hand until she dozed off, then kissed her forehead.
I had a gown to put on.
The quarters were quiet when I let myself in.
I bathed.
I stood under the lukewarm water for a long time.
I washed my hair twice.
When I stepped out, I wrapped myself in a threadbare towel and sat on the edge of the bed and did something I had not done in a long time.
I applied the ceremonial cosmetics.
Light touches.
A little color on my cheeks.
A sweep of something soft across my eyelids.
Kohl to darken my lashes.
I pulled my hair over my left shoulder and worked through it with heated irons I’d borrowed from another blood servant and never returned, until it fell in long, heavy waves down the front of my body.
Then I walked to my wardrobe and pulled out a gown.
It was the midnight blue silk dress Killian had sent, hidden in the back behind my mother’s servant robes.
The sweetheart neckline dipped low.
The delicate straps crossed my collarbone like threads of moonlight.
The silk ran deep as shadow, until the light caught it and it shimmered like blood in starlight, falling cleanly to the slit at my thigh.
I laced myself in.
I stepped into silver strappy heels and wound the ribbons up my ankles.
I turned to the cracked mirror.
The woman who looked back at me I barely recognized.
Her shoulders were bare.
Her waist was small.
Her mouth was soft.
Her eyes were my mother’s eyes, before the blood sickness.
I straightened.
“Very well,” I whispered.
“Very well.”
The chamber door opened.
Killian walked in, adjusting his silver cufflinks.
“Are you prepared—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
As his crimson gaze swept slowly from my face down to my feet and back up again, his entire body went rigid.
My pulse hammered in the hollow of my throat.
He did not say a word.