"These belonged to your mother," he explained.

Just like that, I had something to smile about. I lifted the hair from the nape of my neck so he could clasp the necklace. I didn't know what I expected. A connection, perhaps. Instead, the stone was cold against my skin. I shivered, but I doubted my father noticed. He was busy snapping the bracelet around my wrist.

He led me to the mirror. The jewelry was beautiful and added a flash of color to the dress. Studying our reflections, same red hair, red gleaming around our necks and hands, I felt closer to him somehow.

Our people dislike you, a voice mocked in the back of my head. He and Solange were the only ones in my corner. We ate dinner together every evening and they always had some funny anecdotes to share, yet having me as a daughter couldn't be easy. Our eyes met, and I smiled.

"Thank you, Father," I whispered, calling him "Father" for the first time.

He smiled as though pleased by my response, and once again I wished he did that more.

"You asked for me?" Solange asked, breaking our bonding moment.

I turned and my eyes widened. She wore the exact replica of my gown in black, with a red-lined black cloak. With her well-developed chest and athletic body, bright red lipstick and dramatic makeup, she was s.e.xy and wicked-looking, too. I wasn't sure whether she wore it to make me look even more innocent by contrast or something else. Whatever the reason, it suited her.

She laughed. "Look at us, wearing similar dresses. We must have the same taste in clothes."

Right, like she didn't know what I'd wear.

"If you made mine black, we'd be like twins," I teased.

She shuddered. "Black would make you look like a starving Nosferatu," she said, putting an arm through mine. "And that's the last thing we want. Right, Father?"

"Right. Black is too severe for the occasion, Solange. Change it to a different color or wear something else."

"But I like this dress," she insisted, pouting. "What do you think, Lil?"

"I think, uh, it's up to you to choose what you want to wear, but at the same time, you have to be conscious of the message you're sending."

Lord Valafar nodded in approval. "Listen to your sister, Solange."

"You're going to make a fine diplomat one day, little sis. When I'm queen, you will be my right hand." The dress changed to blood red. "What about now?"

"I like it." It didn't matter what color she wore. She looked stunning.

Our father scowled. "An improvement. I'm not sure if this makes it better or worse." He opened the second box to reveal another pearl necklace. It had more red gems and the design was more intricate. Solange squealed and planted a kiss on his cheek. I envied her ease with him.

"It's time," Lord Valafar said. "We don't want to keep our guests waiting." He offered Solange his right arm and me his left.

The guards were dressed for the occasion, in black cloaks with red lining and matching sash, swords and daggers strapped to their sides. Four of them escorted us.

The main hall was surprisingly empty. Over the last few days I'd noticed a stream of people coming and going. The scent of fresh flowers filled the air. Ribbons and sewn flowers draped the columns and the rails. Even the statue of Coronis had a garland around her neck. The main door to the arena opened slowly to reveal seated people.

"Lord Valafar, son of Ka.s.s, great-grandson of Queen Coronis, King of the Hermonites, and Head of the Order of the Princ.i.p.alities," Sir Malax announced. "Princess Solange, firstborn daughter of Lord Valafar and Lady Raya of the House of Lazari, and heir to the Hermonite throne. Princess Lilith, the long-lost daughter of the House of Neteru, the last daughter of Lord Valafar, and the Light-bearer of the Nephilim."

I noticed he didn't mention my mother. Wasn't her lineage lofty enough?

Silence followed us as we walked across the threshold and entered the arena. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, hating the attention now that I knew my own people feared me.

Lord Valafar walked with his head held up, so sure of his place as the leader of our people. Solange was in her element, turning her head left and right and nodding, a serene smile on her lips. I glanced at the people from the corners of my eyes.

The chairs to the right and left of the throne were occupied by men and women in ceremonial robes and gowns just like Lord Valafar's. They must be the upper-level Hermonites-dukes and d.u.c.h.esses, lords and ladies. On the rest of the benches of the arena were the other Hermonites.

Everyone, even the lords and their wives, bowed and pressed their right fists to their chests. One particular head caught my attention. It was Green Eyes. He studied me insolently from head to toes and back up again as he bowed. Somehow, I couldn't help thinking that he was mocking me. He shook his head, which didn't make sense.

Stop staring at me, he said.

Heat crawled up my face. How did he link with me without pinging first? Lord Valafar indicated I should take a seat on the chair to his left, while Solange sat on his right. Once we were seated, everyone stopped bowing and pressing their hands to their chests. If I were queen, that annoying gesture would be the first thing to go.

I didn't make eye contact with anyone after that but felt many eyes on me. Lady Nemea's words resounded in my head. They didn't trust me and thought I shouldn't be here, that I was a spy for the traitorous Guardians. That hurt. Why would I spy for the very people responsible for my mother's death, the same people who'd kidnapped me and hunted us down like animals? Did Green Eyes think I was a spy too?

I glanced toward where he was seated, but he was gone.

A woman seated to the right side of the throne stood, and silence filled the room. "Lords and ladies, heads of the houses of Neteru, Nosferatu, Werenephil, and Lazari, and my fellow Hermonites, I welcome all of you on behalf of Lord Valafar, our exalted leader. May the Princ.i.p.alities guide him. It is not often we have a reason to hold a celebration of this magnitude. We have mourned our brothers and sisters who fought so valiantly and now suffer in Tartarus, but the time is right to honor them and thank them for defeating our enemies and bringing home our long-lost daughter."

The arena erupted as people clapped and stamped their feet. My eyes connected with a few who didn't clap. I looked away, hating that I wanted them to like me.

Troupes of entertainers-dancers, trapeze artists, contortionists, swordsmen-streamed in one after another. No one tried to hide their true ident.i.ty-Werenephils with tails, pointed ears, scaly skins, and horns sticking out of their hair or their foreheads, Nosferatu with their fangs, Lazari turning into smoke and back to physical form.

Nearby upper-level Hermonites met my gaze, smiled or nodded. One particular guy stared at me with an expressionless face. No smile or nod, gray eyes unreadable. He appeared younger than the other lords, silver hair perfectly styled. Something about him made him stand out. Maybe it was the fact that he wore a white suit under his robe while everyone else wore black, or maybe it was something else.

Even though his expression was calm, anger flowed from him. He hated being here.

What is it?

Startled, my gaze flew to Lord Valafar's. It was weird hearing his voice inside my head. It's nothing.

Our people can tell you are distracted. I can tell, he said, stressing the I.

Sure enough, when I studied the hall, more of the spectators were staring at me. I could also feel their emotions. Some were curious about me. Others were worried, but a few were downright scared. What did they think I'd do? Kill them in their sleep?

Who's the man with silver hair?

Gavyn, son of Llyr. Why?

I can hear his thoughts, I said.

What is he thinking about? Lord Valafar asked.

Food.

Lord Valafar frowned. What is he feeling?

I glanced at him, but he kept staring at the entertainers. How did you know I could feel his emotions?

You are an empath, and empaths feel other people's emotions. What is the son of Llyr feeling right now?

He's angry about something. When his eyes narrowed on Gavyn, I wondered whether I should have said that. We should feed him before he starts having thoughts like the woman next to him. She keeps imagining feeding on the entertainers.

Lord Valafar smiled. Most Nosferatus drink blood from the living-humans, minions, and animals-but they prefer humans.

I studied the woman. She was pretty, but fragile-looking. She's a Nosferatu?

One of the few pure ones left. Her name is Iyana and seated to her right is Gabreel, her husband and the head of the House of Nosferatu.

The husband had the same smooth, marble-like complexion like his wife. He needs to use the bathroom.

Lord Valafar laughed out loud, drawing everyone's attention. I'd never heard him laugh before. Since his eyes were on the contortionists on the floor, one would think he found the performers entertaining.

You are excused, my friend, I overheard him say.

Lord Gabreel teleported and came back a few minutes later. He tilted his head toward me and smiled. Thank you, Princess.

My gaze returned to Gavyn and caught him watching me again. I smiled.

He looked away. Either he didn't like me, or something about me bothered him. Laughter from the audience drew my attention back to the floor, where a group of actors was having a mock battle.

Winged warriors battled those in black uniforms with red belts and cloaks. Black and red were colors I now a.s.sociated with my people. Somehow, I knew this was a reenactment of the Great Battle. The winged people were presumably Archangels, except the entertainers' wings had no feathers. Siding with them were men and women in white uniforms with broad, self-righteous grins on their faces. Guardians. They strutted and appeared to be showing off.

Boos filled the hall.

Then a flame-haired girl in a flowing white dress appeared and the room grew quiet. She walked past the Guardians and the Hermonites alike, a dagger with a wavy blade in her hand. The Guardians cowered in fear while the Hermonites followed her, until she faced the biggest archangel, a blond with ma.s.sive wings.

"I dare you to fight me, Archangel Raphael," she called out.

"You are nothing but a child. You can't fight me. I am the mighty Archangel Raphael." He flipped back his perfect blond hair, his wings lifting behind him.

More boos came from the audience.

"You underestimate me, Raphael," the girl said, then she ran forward, dodging the archangel's sword, flipping and teleporting until she landed behind him. In one smooth, continuous arc, she hacked off his wings. She raised her dagger in victory as the archangel fell to his knees.

Cheers filled the hall as the archangel lay dead at her feet. A chant rose in the air. At first, I wasn't sure I was hearing right.

"Lilith... Lilith..."

The redhead was me? I glanced at my father. He grinned, his focus on the actors. Solange, on the other hand, watched me. Something in her eyes sent a chill through me. Then she winked, and I wondered if I'd imagined the hatred in her eyes.

"I curse you, Lilith, daughter of Lord Valafar," the archangel whispered. "You shall not remember the day you defeated me, the mighty Archangel Raphael." Lightning shot from his fingers and hit the girl.

Silence filled the room.

The archangel splayed his fingers and blasted everyone on the battlefield. "No one shall remember my humiliation." Then he disappeared.

The audience jumped to their feet, clapping and chanting my name again. My face grew red. If everyone who fought in the Great Battle had their memories erased, how did they know I fought the archangel and defeated him?

-4-.

The woman who'd welcomed people stood again and the arena went quiet. "That was a beautiful reenactment of the Great Battle. Now let's feast."

One by one, the audience members teleported and left the upper-level Hermonites behind. None of them was my age except Solange and the silver-haired guy, who was keeping his distance from me like I had cooties. Father led the way into the dining hall. The tables were laden with platters of food, fruit, drinks, and sweets.

My a.s.signed seat was next to Father and Lord Gabreel.

"I know you don't remember me, Princess Lilith," he said, "but I was with you in the battlegrounds before the Archangels appeared. You saved quite a number of us that night, including my wife."

I frowned, a bit confused. I was a prisoner of the Guardians at the time, yet I'd saved some of my people. I must have hated the Guardians to work against them.

"I wish I remembered that night."

He smiled, his elongated canines sparkling. "I'm sure you will. You fought with my daughter." He glanced around. "Her name is Lottius. Maybe you've seen her at the Academy."

"I haven't started at the Academy yet, Lord Gabreel."

"Then you two must meet. Ah, here they are."

The new arrivals were younger, dressed in trendy designer clothes I'd seen in human magazines. I wasn't sure whose attention Lord Gabreel was trying to get, but the younger generation appeared not to want to share tables with their parents. They sat to our far right and left, and continued with their animated conversations.

I wished I was seated with them.

"You can meet Lottie later. Ah, you're back, my dear," Lord Gabreel added with obvious relief.

His wife had disappeared from the hall a few minutes before. There was a bit of blood at the corner of her mouth, which she wiped with a napkin.

"I was telling Lilith about the Great Battle and how she rescued us."

"Oh, you saved my life, Princess." She patted my hand, then reached for her gla.s.s of wine and sipped. "In fact, quite a number of us in here"-she glanced around the hall-"owe you a debt of grat.i.tude."

"Could you tell me more about that night?" I asked.

"I don't know where to begin." She jerked as though prodded and glanced around. "I mean, I wasn't there long enough and didn't see much." One again, she glanced over my shoulder. "Do eat your soup before it gets cold, dear."

It was obvious she didn't want to discuss that day. I glanced over my shoulder to see who she'd glanced at, and my eyes connected with Sir Malax. He was by the doors as though personally guarding them, even though guards were posted around the room.

Had she been looking at him? Could he be the reason she'd lost interest in talking about that night? Maybe I was reading too much into the woman's behavior. Maybe she'd decided the subject wasn't right for a dinner conversation.

I couldn't believe I'd looked forward to this. Dinner was boring. Most people used telepathy to converse. Platters of fruit and food floated to the table without spills, and bottles of wine refilled gla.s.ses without making a mess. Even used plates and utensils disappeared as soon as they'd served their purpose. Tired of watching what appeared to be natural to everyone, I studied the others.

Across from me, on Lord Valafar's right, was Solange. She and Gavyn were having a heated conversation about some club. From the sound of it, it was one of his and he was thinking of expanding within the same sector while she thought he could move to the next one.

I tried to catch his eye with little success, so I studied him. He was determined not to look at me. The few times our gazes connected, he stared blankly at me or scowled. I managed to tap into his feelings. He didn't like me. In fact, I'd go as far as say he hated me. He probably thought I shouldn't be here or I was a spy for the Guardians.