To Vanquish Darkness (Le Sombre #1)

Chapter 22

22

1836 NORTHERN NORMANDY, FRANCE

S omehow, Amalie slept. She dreamed of her mother. Of the two of them finding each other in different lives. Sometimes they were friends, sometimes family, and once she held her mother in her own arms as a baby. She woke in the darkness coated in sweat wearing the same clothes from the rooftop.

It took a moment for the events in Theo’s room to connect themselves in her head. When they did, warmth spread through her chest. Her mother wasn’t gone. Not forever. She couldn’t have her now, but the thought that she existed somewhere was a salve on her broken heart.

The warmth was driven out as cold dread settled in her stomach.

Theo knew her.

He’d been with her in another life, possibly more than one if the flashes of memory in her head were to be believed. Had he been her captor in each? If Theo had seen her find the sword, why hadn’t he used it then? He said it had been stolen, but wouldn’t he have had time? Couldn’t he have ended his life?

The questions flowed in a constant stream, and she had answers to none of them. Amalie hugged her knees to her chest. She’d left Uncle Oren’s to avenge her mother’s death, yes, but it wasn’t only justice. She wanted to protect her family and all families like hers. Innocent people attacked every day in their cities and villages.

It had been simple. Train. Fight. Vanquish.

Amalie ran her thumb over the puckered flesh on her forearm. Nothing was simple anymore.

The door to her room opened, and Henriette entered carrying a tray and a candle. “Oh! You’re awake. I was going to leave this for you?—”

“I need more books.” Amalie dropped her legs to the bed. “Specifically on France in the fifteenth century. Anything on a female warrior, a sword, or?—”

“On Joan of Arc, then?”

Amalie frowned, then shook her head. “No, this woman wouldn’t have been that impressive.”

Henriette bobbed her head. “Of course. I’ll find what I can.” She left the tray on the nightstand, lit the candles hanging in their holders on the wall with her flame, and exited the room.

Amalie ate in silence, and by the time she finished, Henriette was already back carrying a stack of books.

She grunted as she set them down on the writing desk next to the others. “Some of these may not be relevant, but I thought it best to be thorough.”

Amalie scooted off the bed. “Thank you, Henriette.” She could hardly wait to crack open the first cover. Henriette quietly cleaned and removed her tray behind her. Amalie barely heard the click of the door as she left.

She scanned the sections of the first book, Vies des Saints et des Martyrs. It seemed to be a religious text recounting the lives of saints and martyrs, an inspirational work. She flipped to halfway through the book and paused. Joan of Arc. Martyred in 1431 and later canonized.

Amalie set the book down and grabbed the next. Le Traité de la Guerre et la Paix, a treaty on war and peace. While she was interested in the philosophies surrounding chivalry and governance during times of war, it wasn’t likely that this tome held what she was after.

She opened book after book. The Annals of the House of Valois. The Fall of the Plantagenet Empire. All of them spoke of the war that raged through France for over a hundred years. All of them spoke of Joan.

There was nothing on another female warrior. Nothing on a woman named Helena or a sword. Amalie exhaled and closed the books, then stood and stretched her arms over her head. She stalked to the window and released the shutters, swinging them open so she could peer out into the lightening sky. There wasn’t much of a drop to the roof below, and it wasn’t angled. If she couldn’t leave her room and wander the castle, perhaps she could at least get some fresh air.

The latches bit into her fingertips, but she eventually convinced the casements to release. The frame swung outward, ushering in a whoosh of sea air. Amalie closed her eyes as it brushed across her cheeks.

She pulled herself up onto the sill and carefully lowered her feet to the tiles, then stepped away from window and sat, taking in the scene below her. The tide was out, the sun barely burned on the horizon. The wet sand glistened in the orange light.

“You nearly have a library in there.”

Amalie jolted, slamming her palms into the tile beneath her, and whipped her head in the direction of the voice.

Marx. He stood below her on a terrace. Even in the low light, she could make out the green in his eyes and instantly thought of her sister.

Amalie pushed up from the tile and turned to escape back into the safety of her room. Would it keep him out? Theo had proven a vampire could easily enter an upper floor window.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” Marx chuckled. “What did Theo tell you to keep you so frightened?”

She shouldn’t talk to him. But she hadn’t seen him on the rooftop. She hadn’t seen him anywhere with the other vampires. “Who are you?”

“I told you already.”

Amalie crossed her arms over her chest, the wind picking up around her. “I know your name, but why are you never with the others?”

Marx grinned up at her. “You’ve noticed my absence?”

Amalie pursed her lips. Why had she noticed? Shouldn’t she have been as afraid of Paul, Etienne, or Ren as she was of Marx? Yet there was something different about him. Something she couldn’t place.

“Theo would not be pleased to know I’m speaking with you, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Marx leaned on the stone wall in front of him. “Are you going to rat me out?”

“That depends.”

Marx’s eyes flicked back to the open window and the glow of candlelight. "What are you studying?"

Amalie's stomach tightened. "Botany." She wouldn't admit to him what she was after. Amalie found herself wishing Theo was there. Not so she could cling to him, but so she could gauge this man's place. Would he defer to Theo as Etienne had? Or tease him like Ren? Something told her Marx would do neither, and her skin prickled.

"You love plants."

"Of course. What woman doesn't?" she answered blandly.

Marx turned his attention back to her, and Amalie gripped the window sill.

“Don’t you have your own humans to bother?” she asked.

Marx grinned. “Plenty. But when Theo brings one to his castle, I tend to put my plans on hold.”

“Why do you care?”

Marx shrugged. “Call it a personal hobby.” He pointed at the scarf still tied around her neck. “Do you always wear that to bed?”

“It’s sentimental.”

“Uncomfortable to sleep in though, wouldn’t it be?”

Amalie shook her head. “It reminds me of my mother.”

He blew a breath out of his nose. “Sweet. I’m not quite sure I believe it, though.”

Amalie’s hand tightened on the wood. “It doesn’t make much difference to me what you believe.”

Marx straightened, trailing his hand over the stone railing. “Has he fed yet?”

“I don’t know what?—”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I heard about your escapades on the roof. You know what we are. So has Theo fed since he brought you back?”

Amalie’s cheeks flushed. “Not on me. Obviously.”

Marx’s grin widened. “Obviously.” He ran a hand through his hair even though the wind threw it back around his face within seconds. “Nearly three days. He must be aching with thirst.”

Amalie’s stomach turned. Had he killed while she’d been there? Was that where he went during the day? Did he leave to hunt and then come back to the castle?

Marx turned and walked a few paces before turning back. "Those books aren't on plants. If you struggle to read, I can help." He held her gaze for one last moment, then disappeared into the shadows.