“David?” I closed my eyes.

“Yes, my love?”

“Don’t ever let me go.”

He pressed his hand over my ear and breathed cool air against the top of my head. “I never have.”

The song in the Great Hall ended and another began with a familiar, sorrowful stroke of the bow across the strings of a violin.

David bowed and kissed my hand, stepping back. “It has been a pleasure, my love.”

“Thank you, David,” I whispered. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

He kissed my hand again, smoothing the wetness away with his thumb. “Yes, I do.”

I placed my other hand over his. “I miss you.”

“I know.” We walked back to the edge of the balcony and David turned to me. “Don't ever think being apart means I'm not here with you. I will always be with you.”

I nodded. “I love you, David.”

“Come here,” he said, and with my eyes closed, I flung myself into his arms once more—dress, makeup, perfect hair and all—then squeezed him as tight as possible. He kissed my hair, his lips lingering. “I love you, too, Ara. I will miss you in every breath I must take without you.”

“Then don't go.”

He laughed once and stood back, closing his eyes as he traced his fingertip in a cross over his heart. “I wish I didn’t have to—believe me.”

I rested my hand over his wish. “Me too.”

That small moment, just a breath of silence between us before the inevitable farewell, would last a lifetime, as long as my eyes stayed closed. But I felt David lean in, his warm lips on my hand, and a cool wash of air where he stepped away. I opened my eyes and the moment was lost.

“Until we next meet, my love,” he said, and evaporated, saturating me in the emptiness he left behind.

My heart sunk into my belly. I stood reaching into the darkness, as if I might feel some of his lingering energy. “Love you,” I whispered once more, sure this time he would hear me.

“Ara?” Morgaine stepped onto the balcony.

“Hey, Morg.” I sighed.

“Are you ready now?”

“Not really.”

“Well, ready or not, you have a room full of handsome men waiting to dance with you.” She grinned, and the beaming light radiating off her, with the contrast of a deep purple dress on her milk-white skin, made me draw a breath.

“Morg, you look so beautiful.”

“Well—” she took my hand as we started walking, “—I have a special date tonight.”

“Who?” I asked, then smiled. “Is it Blade?”

“How’d you know?”

I shrugged. “Intuition.”

“Hm,” she said, closing my bedroom door. “Well, I don't need intuition to smell a certain individual all over you.”

“Oh.” I looked down at my dress, then at a piece of fabric she held out to me. “What's this?”

“It’s a stole.”

“A what?”

She grabbed it and wrapped it over my shoulders. “It’s like a shawl.”

“Oh. Why am I wearing it?”

“It has David's scent on it. It was Arietta’s; he kept it after she died.”

“Do I have to wear it all night?” I touched my fingers to it; it was delicate, black, transparent, and it looked nice against the red of my dress but kept slipping off my shoulders.

“It’s either this or garlic. You choose.”

“The stole it is,” I said. “So, will this really be enough to disguise his scent on me?”

“No,” she said, as we strolled through the corridor to the stairs. “But it will be enough to stop questions being raised.”

“You hope.”

She smiled back at me. “I hope.”

From the balcony, overlooking the room of ball gowns and tuxedos, I spotted Arthur, laying his violin aside. He looked up, his eyes meeting mine as if he sensed me across the room.

I waved at him, and he bowed, closing his eyes for a second, then started toward us. Mike watched Arthur move, tracking his gaze, and when he looked up and saw me, placed his wine glass on the piano top, farewelled his comrades and moved swiftly across the floor, taking sideways glances at Arthur.

“Is he actually racing?” I asked Morgaine.

She laughed when she looked at him. “In a gentlemanly fashion, but yes, I believe he is.”

“Oh dear. If they both get to me at the same time, how do I choose which one to dance with first?”

“The one on the right,” Morg said. “You offer your right hand, so go with the one on the right.”

My dress tugged lightly around my hips as I took each step, the skirt flowing out behind me like a shadow. When I stopped on the last step, the room came to a standstill, aside from my moving counterparts. I bowed my head to the crowd and ushered them to continue, giving a wave of my hand.

“Good job,” Morgaine reassured under her breath.

“Thanks,” I said through a smile, not taking my eyes off the room.

They all moved again, joining to dance as a song began, and Arthur stepped up, beating Mike to the queen, and took my hand. “Amara, may I have this dance?”

“It would be my pleasure,” I said, refusing to look at Mike.

We wandered, hand in hand, to the middle of the room, and Arthur took me in his arms like a delicate treasure. “You are a picture of beauty, Amara.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, turning my cheek to hide the flushing.

He leaned in and kissed me gently where the heat in my face burned, but as he drew a breath against my skin, his eyes shifted to one side, like a thought escaped him, making his body slightly stiff. He stood taller and looked across the room, then to the doors leading onto the balcony.

“Are you okay, Arthur?”

“Of course.” He relaxed then and held me closer, guiding my careless feet into a gentle glide. But I felt the tension in his shoulders still, and it made my heart beat a little too fast, hoping he hadn't smelled David on me. “You ask of my well-being, Amara, but something seems to be troubling you.”

“Oh, um, no.” I forced a smile. “I was just thinking how much I love the way all you old vampires dance. It’s so…formal.”

He laughed, his cool breath brushing the corner of my eye. “Well, I don't imagine the Nutbush would go down too well at one of these events.”

“You can do the Nutbush?”

He just laughed again. We passed Mike then, who still looked like he’d lost his best friend, so to speak. I felt bad for him, but Arthur did, after all, make it to me first.

“This was Arietta’s,” Arthur noted, touching my shoulder.

“Yes.” I looked up from his hand. “David kept it when she died. Morgaine thought it might make missing him tonight less painful.”

Arthur held me a little closer; I could feel a delicacy to his energy, like he was charged with the kind of adrenaline you get when you have to say something you don't want to. “I wish I could make a potion that would ease a broken heart.”

“Friendship helps.” I squeezed his hand; he squeezed back.

“You're very much like her, you know.” He nodded to the bracelet on my wrist—the one David gave me the night before our wedding.

“Like who?” I asked inquisitively.

“Like his mother—Elizabeth.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

He rested his chin against the top of my head. “She was petite, like you—pretty, with remarkable eyes. But it’s mostly your personality which reminds me of her; your passion, your girlish confusion.” He smiled fondly, looking down at me. “When I'm with you, it makes me miss her.”

“You knew her well?”

“We were very close. Perhaps that is why I fell so in love with her sister.”

I understood that only too well.

“May I cut in,” Mike interrupted, tapping Arthur on the shoulder; the politely formal request to hand over the damn girl.

As Mike waited patiently, another song already beginning, Arthur turned his back to him and lowered his lips to my ear. “I wonder if I might steal you for a quiet word?”

“No!” Mike answered for me.

“I promise to bring her back.” Arthur faced him, blocking my view.

“Yes,” I spoke over Arthur’s shoulder and gave Mike the don’t-you-dare frown. “Just for a moment.”

Mike studied Arthur through a narrowed glare.

“I’ll be fine.” I stepped around Arthur and rested my palm on Mike’s chest, pushing him gently away. “Go dance with Emily—she’s going home tomorrow.”

“Ara?” He grabbed my arm as I turned away.

“What?”

“It’s just—” He wrapped his fingers loosely around my wrist, scratching his head with his other hand. “It’s just…the last time I left you in another man’s arms at a ball—”

“Oh, Mike?” My heart melted; I slid my arms around his waist, pressing every inch of my chest to his. “It’s okay. I'm not human anymore, I—”

“That won’t stop you from being hurt.” He stood back, eyeing Arthur.

“I trust Arthur, Mike—for what it’s worth.” I glanced between the two of them. “But, if it makes you feel any better, you can stand here and watch us.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Mike stared me down. “Why are you being so reasonable?”

I tried to hold back from laughing. “Because I realised, Mike, how much I need you, and…”

He waited, smiling expectantly. “And?”

“And…most of the time, you actually turn out to be right about things.”

His eyes narrowed with a smile. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

I laughed, balancing on my toes to kiss his cheek. “I love you, okay.”

“I know.”

I took Arthur’s hand and as we walked through the doors to the balcony, turned back to look at Mike. “We’ll be right outside. I promise.”

He folded his arms and leaned on the doorframe. “And I’ll be right here.”

I shook my head, feeling more love than anger for Mike and his over-protection.

Under the light of the stars outside, the cool breeze filled my lungs with a fresh, floral scent. Once far enough away from Mike’s aura of tension, we stopped by the marble ledge of the balcony, overlooking the small garden we sat in on the first day I came here. I smiled at the swing, still seeing us sitting there, arguing. It seemed like so long ago—and even then, I knew so little compared to what I know now. It made me feel older, in a good way.

“Thank you,” Arthur said quietly to someone behind us. I turned to watch him shake a man’s hand and walk back over to me, carrying something under his arm.

“What’s that?” I asked, a little embarrassed that I hadn't even noticed he’d walked away.

“It’s for you.” He placed a long wooden box on the marble ledge.

“What is it?”

“Just open it.”

I dropped the stole from my shoulders and laid it carefully over the railing, then, using my thumbs, pushed the latch on the box up. Before I even saw what it was, shining metal glinted in the dull candlelight. I threw the lid all the way open and reached for the sword inside, but didn’t touch it. “Arthur, this is beautiful.”

“It’s Lilithian steel.” He ran a fingertip over the blade, then lifted it and pointed to the hilt. “This snake is made of copper, to conduct electricity. If I am not mistaken about your powers, your touch should charge this blade with that energy of yours.”

With wide eyes and a round mouth, I took the sword from Arthur’s hand. It was light, comfortable, like it was made for my hands. “Where did you get this?”

“I had it commissioned for you.”

My eyes shifted from the blade to Arthur. “It’s incredible.”

“Her name is Nhym.” He pointed to the opaque markings on the steel. “This, in the language of the ancients, reads Where there is life, there is hope.”

I felt the light reflect off the blade and shine across my face, like a mask.

“Go ahead—” He turned it in my hand so the snake rested in my palm. “Try it out.”

Looking at my reflection in the darkened glass beside me, I held the sword up; face to face. Life and breath. My hands charged, the static rising, heating my wrists, my fingertips. I felt it leave my body, felt it snake up the copper embellishment into the blade, and the blue light circled the tip, soft yet powerful, like lashes of plasma in a globe. It looked pretty, innocent, harmless, but I knew the damage it would do to any who dared strike their metal against mine.

“It’s perfect, Arthur.” I lowered the blade and let the electricity simmer away with a deep breath. Though the pounding in my head made me want to fold over and hold my temples, I didn't; Arthur’s warm smile and the eagerness in his eyes forced me to show only appreciation. But not just for the sword—for being the only one who ever actually believed in me. “I can't think of another person in this entire manor who would’ve thought of such a gift, Arthur.”

“It’s not just a gift, Amara. It’s a statement.”

“Statement?”

He took the sword delicately from my hands and laid it back in the box. “You’re ready for this. You’re ready to fight for your people, my queen. This weapon symbolises you stepping into your role as not only our leader, but a warrior for your people. With the gift of life—” he touched Nhym “—at your fingertips, you will be the one who leads us to freedom.”