Chapter 5
821words
At the Elder Council.
"What? Isolde is severing her soul link with the sacred relic?" Grand Elder Marcus gripped the phone, his knuckles white. "Sterling, are you certain? That is a death sentence!"
"The documents arrived last night, Grand Elder. Isolde signed them herself with a blood seal," Sterling's voice said over the phone.
"She has transferred all rights to Miss Vivienne, including the soul-bond. Furthermore, she used an irrevocable trust. Not even the Council can freeze it."
Marcus slammed the phone down, his ancient face pale. The council chamber was deadly silent.
"This is all wrong," Marcus paced back and forth, his brows furrowed deeply. "Isolde has never been impulsive. Giving everything to a fledgling... it reeks of a trap."
"Could it be..." a subordinate hesitated, "that the shock of the coronation was too much for her?"
"Contact her immediately!" Marcus roared.
"We've tried. We cannot sense her."
Before he could finish, a sharp crack echoed from the altar.
The Crimson Heart, the gem symbolizing the queen's life force, shattered into dust before their eyes.
Marcus slumped into his chair, his voice trembling. "She has fallen. Isolde... is truly dead."
Had it been an ordinary death, necromancy might have brought her back. But the relic shattering meant the complete annihilation of her soul.
Just then, the manager of Isolde's private art gallery called.
"Grand Elder, you must come and see. The lady sent over a painting... titled 'The Funeral.'"
Fear, like an invisible hand, tightened its grip around Marcus's throat.
If they had driven the last pureblood queen to her death, the curse upon the clan would be eternal.
"To the mansion. Now!"
When Miles returned, he kicked open Isolde's bedroom door.
He tore the curtains down, ripping the heavy velvet to shreds. "Isolde! Come out! I'm back! I'm sorry! Just stop hiding!"
Vivienne followed close behind, wrapped in Miles's coat, looking like a frightened rabbit. "Miles..."
"Shut up!" Miles spun around, his fangs fully extended, spit flying from his mouth. "Don't speak! She hates your voice! If you speak, she won't come out!"
Silas stepped forward. "She's not coming back, my lord."
Miles grabbed Silas by the throat, slamming him into the stone wall, cracking the masonry.
"Liar! I can still smell her! She was here yesterday! She can't leave me! She promised for eternity!"
"She had the Blood Blight, My Lord."
Silas merely staggered to his feet, holding the empty vial up before Miles.
"This was the last vial of the Progenitor's Blood. It was the only thing that could have saved her life. But three days ago, you gave it to a fraud who was merely pretending to be ill."
The color drained from Vivienne's face. She covered her mouth, tears instantly welling up. "What? Sister was that ill? I didn't know... If I had known, I would have rather died in agony than drink it..."
"Of course you did not know." Silas did not even deign to look at her. "You were too busy pretending to be weak, too busy trying on the lady's clothes, too busy taking everything that was hers."
"Enough!" A powerful aura erupted from Miles, forcing Silas a step back. "Silas, watch your tone. Vivienne is innocent."
He snatched the empty vial and smashed it on the floor, sending shards of glass flying.
"Isolde is just too melodramatic. She could have said something sooner, but she had to punish me with this silence. "
"When will she stop this tantrum?"
Silas stared at him in disbelief. "My lord, the lady has only just passed, and this is how you speak of her?"
"Passed? Don't be ridiculous." Miles let out a laugh, but his face pale.
"She is Isolde Vance! She is the strongest of us. A mere illness cannot kill her. She's doing this to scare me. She wants me to beg, doesn't she? Fine. I'm begging. Tell her to come out."
"She's not coming back!"
Silas's voice was no longer deferential.
"To spare you any worry, to facilitate this 'perfect transfer of power,' she endured bone deep agony for three months, surviving on potent, toxic painkillers as she awaited a cure. Every minute of every day, her very bones were turning to stone."
"Stop lying!" Miles roared, gripping the back of a chair until the wood splintered. "She was fine last night! She was standing right there!"
"That was her goodbye, my lord."
Silas straightened his back as if delivering a final verdict. "Now, please step aside. I must prepare the Lady's real funeral."
Miles froze, a cold dread he had never known slithering up his spine like a serpent.
"You're serious?"
Silas didn't answer. He simply moved aside, revealing a small pile of shimmering, silver-gray dust on the terrace behind him, glinting in the sunlight.
"That is her, my lord."
"And you have just stepped in her ashes."
