To Vanquish Darkness (Le Sombre #1)

Chapter 30

30

1836 NORTHERN NORMANDY, FRANCE

A malie scrambled back, clutching the edge of the windowsill to keep from crumpling into a pile on the floor. Allard? No. It couldn't be possible. He’d heard wrong, repeated an incorrect name. The world seemed to shrink and expand in a never-ending cycle, and she squeezed her eyes closed against the spinning walls.

People said that time slowed and your life flashed before your eyes in the moments preceding death, but she didn’t expect it to happen by proxy. Images flashed through her mind. Her uncle's laughter as he tossed her in the air when she was young. His strong arms catching her again and again. Sitting by the fire while he told stories of battles fought long ago. Of heroes in France who risked everything for those they loved.

She couldn’t imagine it. Him. Transformed into one of these monsters. Somehow she’d believed that it wouldn’t be possible to turn a guardian, but that belief was based on nothing. Theo had never said as much. She’d assumed, and it seemed her assumption was proven false.

What kind of power would a guardian have if they were cursed? Her blood and body healed and replenished. She could withstand glamours. But vampires could do all of that, too. What kind of gift was guardian blood if it didn’t give her anything to fight with?

Amalie pressed her lips together, staying silent. She couldn’t admit she knew the name. If what Ren said was true, Theo had known her family was in danger and had kept information from her. Again.

It didn’t make sense.

Ren’s explanation didn’t make any sense, but she couldn’t think of a better one.

Unless.

Theo still held his secrets. Had he brought her here because he knew something more about her family? Had he plucked her out because he needed her and believed they were in danger?

Her heartbeat felt like thunder before a storm.

She should stay here behind the wards. She should listen to Theo and wait until he returned.

She should stay in after dark. She should stay away from Marcel and the Pourfendeurs. Should, should, should.

She should’ve done so many things. But she hadn’t.

That night would be no different.

Amalie sat on the edge of her bed with a small satchel in her arms, her toes tapping on the floor. Voices echoed along the castle walls, the sun had already dropped over the horizon. This was not her moment. But she was taking it anyway.

Quietly, she rose from the bed and tiptoed to the window, praying that no vampires would be on the lower terrace. The salty sea air greeted her as she opened it, sending a shiver down her spine. She peered out, her eyes scanning the roof outside her window. It was a precarious route, but it was her only option. She couldn’t afford running into any member of Theo’s coven inside, especially since Ren was on high alert.

Amalie took a deep breath, her senses skittish. With one last look around her room, she climbed up onto the window ledge. The rough stone dug into her palms as she steadied herself. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to stay calm. She had to move now, or she’d lose her nerve.

At least she’d already had practice with sneaking out a window once in the past week. It was becoming an unfortunate new habit.

She swung her leg over the ledge and carefully lowered herself onto the roof. She hadn’t counted on the mist. The tiles hadn’t felt precarious when she’d stepped out the other day, but now they were cold and slick under her boots. She took a moment to steady herself, then hissed as her sole slipped.

For a heart-stopping moment, she teetered on the edge, her arms pinwheeling for balance. Her heart skipped a beat and she bit back a gasp as the tile cracked and a piece of it skittered off the edge of the roof. She dropped into a crouch, waiting for any sign of life on the terrace. After she caught her breath, and nothing moved in the shadows, she stayed low, moving quickly but silently.

The rest of the castle loomed above her as she took calculated steps, keeping to the wall. She couldn’t afford to make another sound. Vampires had heightened senses, but with the number of gulls nesting on the roof, she hoped her scuffs wouldn’t attract attention.

Sweat beaded on her brow as she reached the edge of the roof and peered over. On one end of the terrace, a set of stone stairs led down to the cobbled street. She steeled herself, then swung over the edge, lowering herself down. Her feet hit the ground softly, and she let go.

Amalie dropped to her stomach, rolling away from the windows, then crawled toward the stairs. When she finally arrived, she lowered into a crouch, then began to descend.

She kept low until she reached the street, then darted between the buildings. She stepped lightly, her footsteps silent on the cobblestone. Traveling in solitude made her skin itch. It was only days since she’d run through Mordelles and found Theo on the path to the shed.

They could be out there. Any of them. She wouldn’t even hear them coming.

Amalie pressed on. She tried to remember the path they’d taken when Theo had brought her through these streets. Hard to grasp, considering the situation. Her mind flashed back to his firm grip on her arm as he guided her up the winding alleys. They had passed a graveyard and a small chapel with a crumbling facade and stained glass, of that she was certain. Amalie turned left and followed the street down, hoping it would lead her to the front gates.

The wind whispered through the narrow passages, rustling the leaves of ivy that clung to the stone buildings. With adrenaline coursing through her veins, she picked up on everything. The distant crash of waves against the shore, the creak of a wooden sign swinging above a shop. Every sound made her shoulders tense.

Her family wasn’t safe. Amalie quickened her pace, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. What a mess. How had she gotten here? She wanted to retrace her steps and figure out which one she’d gotten wrong, but even when she stretched to her childhood, each pinpoint in time seemed to tumble into the next.

Her father’s death. Her mother’s loneliness. Her uncle’s deceptions. Amalie’s desperation. If she’d been different as a child, would her mother have been a target? If she’d stayed until her eighteenth birthday, would Uncle Oren have told her everything?

Had she known then what she did now, she would’ve acted differently, wouldn’t she? She would’ve gone to Oren if he’d been honest with her, they could’ve had warning—they could’ve fled.

But Oren was a guardian, too. He only knew as much as his lifetime allowed. As much as their history and stories told him.

Theo had seen her. He’d known her. He hadn’t died and forgotten.

She swiped the tears from her cheeks as she passed under an archway, spotting the church ahead. As she neared the edge of the abandoned village, anxiety clawed at her throat. Soon, she'd pass through the doors and stand exposed on the flats.

She’d checked the tide. She should have an hour at least before the water rushed back in. Amalie paused at the last building, pressing her back against the cool stone. She allowed herself two breaths, then scanned the area ahead, looking for any signs of movement, any hint of danger.

Nothing.

The wind whispered against her cheeks as she pushed through the door. There was no one there guarding the entrance, because why would they have to? Anyone who wandered in here would be a welcome guest.

Her foot sank as she stepped onto the sand flats. There was nowhere to hide, no way to make this less conspicuous. She gripped the strap of her bag on her back and made a run for it. Thanks to her training with the Pourfendeurs, her lungs and heart were strong. If she kept a steady pace, she’d be able to make it to the trees without stopping to rest.

The soft sand shifted under her boots, but she maintained her balance. As her breathing quickened, she searched for something to distract herself.

Her mother. Bethany. Uncle Oren. Not helpful to think of them, but she couldn’t keep their faces out of her head. They were tied by blood. Oren had secrets . She’d lived before, she’d been a warrior. Theo had secrets. There was a sword, but the books?—

A flash of a memory surfaced—her mother and Uncle Oren in hushed conversation. She focused harder, but it was like grasping at smoke. The words were just out of reach, slipping away before she could piece them together.

They were always talking. Every day when her mother came in from the gardens. They laughed together, argued about whether it was best to butter the bread before or after baking, and played games of stones in the garden at sunset.

That was how Amalie had learned to be a sister. She wanted a friendship like that with Bethany, and she’d earned it. She had to get to her before another vampire did.

Amalie pushed harder, and when she finally entered the cover of trees, her breath came in short bursts. She dropped to the ground, resting her back against the trunk of an oak.

And like a crack of lightning, the words from her memory surfaced.

Amalie was a child crouching at the top of the staircase, peering through the gap in the stairs. Her mother’s voice floated up to her . . .

“That wasn’t my goal, Oren.” Her mother paced, her long skirt brushing against the stone floor.

“Then what is it? Please, Rachel. I’m all ears.”

Her mother dropped a book with a frayed black cover and gold lettering on the table. “We’ve broken our bonds. It says so right here!”

Oren placed his spectacles on his nose. He stood near the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t need to read it.”

“Oren—”

“They kept that record from us for a reason! It’s dangerous.”

“Or they were afraid.” She planted a hand on her hip.

Oren shook his head. “Maybe we should be afraid.”

It had been almost twenty years since that night. How had she never thought of it? She replayed the dialogue, searching for anything she’d missed. It was like hunting for coins scattered across the damn flats.

Her mother’s books. Where had they gone?

Amalie forced herself up. She needed more than half-remembered conversations and cryptic phrases. She needed concrete information—something tangible she could use to find this relic Theo had spoken of. If Uncle Oren was turned, he wouldn’t help her, would he?

Her fingers brushed something cool and sticky as she stood. Sap. It was all over the arm of her shirt. And in her hair. She groaned, opening her satchel. At least she’d thought to bring an extra pair of clothes.

She stripped off her shirt and pulled the new one from her sack.

“I’ll give it to you Amalie, had I not been watching, I wouldn’t have heard a thing.”

Amalie whirled at the voice, her heart leaping into her throat.

Ren stepped out from behind a tree, his eyes gleaming. He tsked. “Where are you headed, little bird?”