She Dies at the End (November Snow #1) (30 page)

The oracle and the king had already had one argument that evening.  There had been the issue of her reward.  It turned out that there was a tradition that a person who saved the life of the king could name his or her reward.  Generally, of course, these would consist of money, land, lordships, priceless jewels, and other items of that nature.  November had no interest in such things.  Upon reflection, a strange notion popped into her head.  She requested that Ben’s life be spared.  She wasn’t sure why.  The idea just came to her, but once it did, she was sure it was the right decision.  She, however, could neither understand nor explain why.  After all, she was the one Ben had tried to kidnap.  Ilyn had not been pleased and had done his best to talk her out of it.  In the end, he trusted that her gift was involved and would not lead them astray, and he agreed to her request, saying in a strained voice, “Perhaps we will find a way to make use of him.”

On the plane, the remains of a gourmet lunch sat on the table next to her, along with a fresh glass of cola just delivered by a lovely fairy flight attendant.  November looked out the window down at the lights on the ground as they approached the airport.  Her ears popped as they descended.  Take-off had been a little frightening for her, which everyone had found amusing.  The current view of the Strip was pretty amazing, which was a good distraction from her nerves.  “That one’s his,” Zinnia said, reaching over to point.  “That one, too.”  November was suitably impressed.

“Could you help me with my wig?” she asked once they were safely back on solid ground.  She’d removed it once they were in the air; it itched something awful.  With her face still on telephone poles throughout Northern California, they’d chosen the closest thing they could find to the opposite of her own hair: a sleek, strawberry blonde bob with heavy bangs.  Her shorn head certainly made dealing with the wig easier.  Add a pair of designer glasses, tasteful jewelry, and expensive clothes, and she was unrecognizable as a scruffy, dark-haired runaway.

They were whisked from the plane to a waiting limousine flanked by SUVs for the short drive to Ilyn’s primary residence at the Tayna Spa and Casino.  They came through a private entrance, of course, bypassing the crowds on the gaming floor and in the lobby.  Even the back hallways were spectacular.  It was apparent that no expense had been spared in the construction and decoration of the complex, the flagship of Ilyn’s financial vampire.

Zinnia and November were delivered to the rather large suite they were sharing.  It was, in Zinnia’s always elegant parlance, “Ridonk.”  It was certainly the work of someone with very good taste and a great deal of money at his or her disposal.  Everything was perfect: the cream color of the upholstery, the cool stone floor of the bathrooms, the placement of the furniture, the smooth way the curtains opened and closed.

Even so, something about the place was nagging at November.  She wandered around for a long minute, trying to put her finger on it, until she finally opened the door to take a look down the hallway, and it hit her.  She looked at the room number on the door, and the details came back in a rush.

“November, are you alright?” Pine asked, right on cue.  November decided that he should have t-shirts printed with that sentence on the front.

“I need to talk to the king,” she said with quiet resignation.

“I very much doubt that is possible right now,” Willow answered in a rather disbelieving tone.

“Then someone do me a favor and tell him that there’s going to be a fire in the hotel,” she replied with brisk annoyance and closed the door firmly, irritated that Willow would think she’d want to see him if it wasn’t an emergency.

The fancy, extra long bathtub with its own pillow beckoned to her.  She wanted to heed its siren call, but instead had to wait to see if she’d be summoned once her news reached the king.  After about fifteen minutes, just as her irritation reached critical levels, there came a knock at the door.  She took a peek before unlocking it and was surprised to see that the king had instead come to her.  She opened the door and stood aside for him to enter.  Lord William was just behind.  They strode into the living room, Ilyn’s eyes seeming to study every feature in search of an imperfection while studiously avoiding looking at the human.

Before November could even sit down, Lord William began with the questions.  “What’s all this about a fire?  When will it be?  How does it start?  When did you have the vision?”  November ignored him and opened up her most recent binder of work, pulling out the relevant pages.

“I first saw it the night before last.  I saw the king, alone in a hallway filled with smoke, seemingly searching for someone.  I heard crashes, alarms, and screaming.  As you can see, the number on the door matches my room number, and the filigree around the peephole is the same.  This leads me to believe that the fire will happen here.”  She spoke quickly, in a businesslike tone that betrayed none of her extremely mixed feelings about being so close to the vampire monarch.

“We have excellent fire suppression technology,” William mused.  “And the security screening is thorough.  I don’t understand how someone could get enough fuel in here to start a significant fire.”

“Well, someone will,” November said.  “Is there any way to move this thing somewhere else?”

Ilyn shook his head.  “That is not feasible,” he replied.  “We’re talking about hundreds of people who would need lodging.  And who knows how safe the alternate site would be?”

“If they know about a specific threat, a lot of them will take it as excuse to just go home.  We need them to see the trial, to vote to support action against the rebel,” William added.

“Surely you’re going to warn people?” November asked, shocked by their seemingly cavalier attitude.

“We have developed a very good plan for quick, daytime evacuation, coordinated with each delegation,” Ilyn assured her.  “They knew the risk when they came here.  Believe me, after what happened in Oakland, we are taking every precaution.  We’ll have guards everywhere.  A whiff of smoke or fuel, and they’ll set off every alarm in the place.”

“That is somewhat reassuring,” November replied.  “There’s one other issue this brings up that I should probably point out to you.  For me to have seen this vision, I must not be in the building when the event occurs.  I can’t see my own future, remember?  And since I have no plans to make a run for it . . .”

“You’re afraid someone’s going to make off with you?” Ilyn finished.  She nodded.  “Let’s increase her guard,” he told William.  “Keep the two on the door and add a man each in the elevators, lobby, and the stairwells.  And six guards on her when she leaves the room.”  William nodded.  “Is that everything?” the king asked November.

She looked him in the eye for a long moment before answering coldly, “Yes, that’s all.”  The vampires blew out the door.   “Don’t bother thanking me or anything,” she said to the closed door before finally drawing herself a very hot bath.

The Assembly opened with a minimum of pomp, given the circumstances.  The first major order of business was Lilith’s trial, where she was judged by a jury composed of twelve randomly selected lords, since it was the crown itself who was the wronged party in a case of treason.  Not surprisingly, they quickly voted unanimously to convict.  What was surprising was their choice to invite November to attend the execution.

“They did what, now?” she exclaimed to William when he paid her a visit to give her the news.

“They want to meet the great Oracle.  You’re famous, and we’ve been holding you close,” he explained with a shrug.  “So, to hell with precedent.”

“I don’t want to be there,” she replied.

“Look, if it were up to me, you wouldn’t be.  But there are several very powerful lords on the panel, and the king really does not need to be disagreeing with them right now,” William said with earnest exasperation.  “We need you to do this.”

“Fine,” she said, throwing in the towel.  “Just tell me I don’t have to wear a prom dress.”

The king himself came to escort her.  November would have preferred some warning on that score.  Her chest got tight whenever she saw him, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap him or kiss him.  No, scratch that – she definitely wanted to slap him.  And yet, she got the strangest feeling of comfort just being near him.  She was beginning to find fairy magic tremendously irritating.

“You look lovely,” Ilyn murmured when she opened the door.  She was wearing a grey cashmere suit with a slim skirt that stopped a few inches past the knee.  A pale pink blouse provided a splash of color, and her stubble of hair was covered by a chic black turban.  She was wearing William’s earrings again, as they were the only ones she owned.

“Thanks,” she replied shyly.  “So, just how awful is this going to be?”

“You mean the execution?” Ilyn asked.

“Yes, the execution,” she said, almost laughing.  “Not the incredibly awkward conversation in which we are currently engaged.”

“Well, that depends on the method of execution she chooses,” Ilyn explained as they began walking down the hallway, surrounded by a phalanx of bodyguards.

“She gets to pick?”

“That is our tradition if the jury deadlocks.  They couldn’t decide between burning at the stake and dismemberment followed by decapitation.”

“Classy.”  

She was silent for a spell as they rode the elevator up to the roof.   They emerged to bows from the assembled dignitaries.  Once Ilyn acknowledged them, everyone returned to their milling about and networking while simultaneously staring at November.  It was a different kind of stare than she was accustomed to from supernatural people.  It was more of a respectful, appraising gaze, as though they were trying to get an idea of how powerful she might be, rather than how her blood might taste or how she might be seduced.  The lord of Texas, already one of her fans, strode over to pay his respects and introduce some of his allies.  Bodyguards were constantly within reach, not just Pine and Willow, but half a dozen from Ilyn’s own guard.  She was glad for them: the roof was closely packed, but the guards forced some breathing room around her, refusing to let the crowd press in.  In one corner of the roof stood a stage topped with a wooden stake, for now empty of the condemned woman.  The sight chilled November’s heart.  It felt viscerally familiar; she knew not why.

A number of people came up to thank her.  Some had been at William’s house the night of Lilith’s attempted attack and credited November with saving their lives.  Others had had friends or family there that evening and were similarly grateful.  Others were simply glad she had helped get rid of Lilith’s poisonous presence in Ilyn’s court.  November was all smiles, as gracious and charming as she knew how to be, and grateful that the entirely non-human crowd wasn’t taking too much of a toll on her mental shields.  It was kind of gratifying to have her gift so appreciated by strangers.  She felt less like a freak and more like a treasure.  It was almost enough to make her forget the unpleasantness that was to come.  Pine smiled at her during a lull in her receiving line and murmured to her, “We take life debts seriously, you know.  You made yourself some powerful allies on New Year’s Eve.”  
Yes
, she thought,
but some powerful enemies, too, I’ll wager
.

Finally, the crowd hushed as Lilith emerged, flanked by guards.  She held her head high, but her eyes were wide and her gait unsteady.  An aisle opened up in the crowd, and she was forced to walk a hissing, spitting, shouting gauntlet.  November kept well away from her.  Ben was brought out, too, apparently to witness the fate of his fellow traitor, but drew considerably less attention, being comparatively much less despised.

As they bound the condemned to the stake with silver chains, a slight smell of burning flesh wafted over the crowd.  A hush came over the assembled witnesses as the king stepped up to the stage, his day minister at his side.  “In what manner shall you die, Lilith Roosebeke?”

Her reply was inaudible to November, but plain to the crowd around her, as they muttered such phrases as, “Stake, eh? Deserves a lot worse.”

“And by whose hand shall you die, Lilith Roosebeke?” the king demanded.  Most of their condemned chose a friend or ally, that a friendly face might be the last they saw.  Lilith had few friends, even among those secretly loyal to Luka.  She had, after all, failed her rebellious master.  Again, her voice was too soft for November’s human ears, but the crowd let out a hue and cry, and everyone turned to look in her direction.  
Oh, no
.

Pine turned her way, his face alive with surprise.  “She chose you, Em.”

“I don’t want to do it,” she protested.  “This is ridiculous.  The king should do it.  I decline.  I refuse.”

“You must,” Willow stated flatly.  “It is our way.”

The crowd once again opened up an aisle, this time for the oracle.  
Why is she making me do this? 
November asked herself.  

As she walked toward the stage, Pine and Willow flanking, the crowd applauded her, then began cheering.  Ilyn looked at her apologetically.  “I had no idea she would do this, little one,” he said, placing the stake in her hand, showing her how to hold it.  It was the first time he had touched her since their falling out, and November was freaked out enough to be grateful for the help.

“How do I do this?” she whispered, her voice shaking as much as her hands were.

“Stab her in the center of the chest, as hard as you can,” he replied.  Lilith looked at them both with contempt mixed with envy and desperation.