A child.

No more than nine or ten, she sat on the edge of the platform. Her long blonde hair had been braided with red ribbons and a few rebellious strands had escaped to fall in a frame around her pale, porcelain face. Now she slouched forward, her chin resting heavily in her hands, propped up by slender arms. Looking bored and disinterested in the proceedings, she kicked her feet absently against the dais.

I nearly smiled, watching her. I wondered who she could be. Someone important enough to be included amongst the powerful people on the platform but not important enough to be made to stand beside them. Or perhaps they had given up trying to make her stand nicely. Children were children anywhere. Even among vampires.

The man seated on the black chair was rising.

He held his staff as a symbol of strength, not as a crutch like a truly elderly man might. I got the sense of an ancient power. He loomed over the whole assembly like a dark shadow and something about the way he looked down at me made me weak in the knees. Not in a good way.

Blake’s hand gripped my wrist more tightly. To hurt me or to steady me, I wasn’t sure which.

Either way it worked. I stood up a little straighter, lifted my chin a little higher.

“A rare find indeed,” the older man agreed, as he stepped to the edge of the platform. “You were right to bring her to us, Blake.” His eyes honed in on mine, glowing faintly. “What is your name, child? Where do you come from?”

I had the impression he was doing his best to speak kindly. Yet I knew beyond a doubt there was nothing truly kind about this man.

Nevertheless, a warmth flooded through me and I found my lips parting before I could stop myself.

“My name is Medra Pendragon, my lord.”

A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd. I did my best to ignore them.

“As for where I come from...” I cleared my throat. “You would not believe me if I told you.”

Another ripple went through the crowd and I saw the older man frown as if I had said something inadvertently defiant.

“You have no knowledge of Sangratha? Of the Thralldom?”

I shook my head. “I don’t even know what those words mean.”

Though “thralldom” was pretty clear. I disliked the implications. Was this vampire kingdom based entirely upon slavery or some form of it?

“All I ask, my lord,” I said, continuing onwards as carefully as I could. “Is for your forbearance and mercy. I may have been found in your land, yes, but I had no intention of being here. I did not mean to trespass. I wish only to return home.”

The man was silent for a long moment.

Then, “Tell me, Medra Pendragon, how does one find oneself in a strange land as you did? And having no knowledge of how you found yourself here, how could you possibly return home? Where is home?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. He was right. I had no idea how to traverse worlds as I had apparently done purely by accident. I had been snatched somehow from the jaws of death but not by my doing or my choice.

“Your silence speaks volumes. You do not speak of your home. Therefore, are you a spy?”

“I’ve forgotten it,” I blurted out. “I’ve forgotten my home. If I’m a spy, I’ve forgotten that, too. But I know I don’t belong here.”

“How convenient,” the man said softly. “And yet perhaps this is precisely where you belong. Now tell me, what other dangerous information have you forgotten?”

I lifted my chin. “I said I’ve lost my memories. Not that I mean you any harm. There’s no need for you all to be so suspicious. Why do you stare at me? Because of my hair? Red hair is not so rare where I come from. I remember that much. Is this realm so weak that you see me as a threat?”

The room erupted with noise.

“Silence!” the other man on the platform, the one who resembled Blake, bellowed. “We will have order here or the hall shall be cleared.”

Quiet descended immediately. Around me people shifted uncomfortably, no one daring to look up at the man on the platform.

“If I may, Lord Drakharrow.”

It was the young woman in the violet dress. She stepped forward, her hands clasped modestly together.

So, the man who would deal my fate was related to Blake Drakharrow. Was this his father?

“Miss Pansera.” Lord Drakharrow smiled indulgently. “Do you have wisdom to impart to the court?”

The young woman gave a simpering smile. “To believe I had any wisdom to impart to you, Lord Drakharrow, would be the utmost presumption.”

A titter of laughter came from the crowd. But the laughter was gentle. She was one of them, after all.

The young woman took a small step forward, her eyes coming to rest on me.

“No, no wisdom, my lord. Simply anger.”

“Anger, Miss Pansera?” Lord Drakharrow’s eyebrows rose.

“Anger at this creature.”

I bristled.

“At this female’s defiance,” she continued. “Anger at her disrespect for your house, for this court, for our sacred traditions.”

“I know nothing about your traditions,” I said loudly. “And I meant no disrespect.”

The young woman’s face took on an expression of disgust. “Even now she speaks to me as if she had a place here. As if she had a right to speak among the Pure of Blood. But she was found on a heap of dirt. She reeks of the grave and I cannot help but hope you send her back to it, my lord. You do not deserve to be spoken to with such disdain.”

Lord Drakharrow tilted his head thoughtfully. “What of the marks she bears, Miss Pansera? Would you have me kill her or allow her to depart despite that?”

The girl in the violet gown shrugged. “What does it matter if she bears a rider’s marks when there is nothing to ride?”

I glanced quickly at the prince, confused by the words, but he would not meet my eyes. His lips were pressed together in a thin line. Was he displeased with Miss Pansera’s speech? Or was he simply annoyed at having to be there at all?

Miss Pansera was stepping back demurely, taking up her place amongst the other nobles on the platform, her head bowed respectfully.

But though her head was tilted downwards, her eyes remained on me.

It was clear she wanted Lord Drakharrow to kill me here today. What had I done to make her my enemy? Or was it simply that I was not a vampire?

“Regan Pansera speaks true,” Lord Drakharrow admitted to the crowd. “There have not been dragons in our lands in more than one hundred years.”

My heart leaped at the word. Dragons.

“The last riders died out long before that.” Lord Drakharrow scanned the crowd. “And we–the Chosen, the Pure, the Blessed Blood–are sadly the weaker for it. Are we not?”

A subdued murmur of agreement.

He raised his voice a little. “This girl, wherever she really comes from, bears the unmistakable marks of a rider. See the color of her hair. The pointed tips of her ears. Look at how her fingers and toes are elongated, just as the riders of old.”

I glanced down at my hands self-consciously, curling them into fists. But my feet were bare. There was nothing I could do to hide them. All around me, everyone stared and murmured.

Beads of sweat prickled the back of my neck. I tried to remain calm. My hands and feet were like any fae’s back in Aercanum. Elongated? I was half-fae, so I supposed they were. More than a full human’s. There was nothing unusual about that where I came from.

“Her build,” Lord Drakharrow continued, raising both hands and then lowering them to gesture to my body. “A lean, streamlined physique, optimized for balance and agility.” He eyed me. “Her bones. Were we to conduct experiments, no doubt we would find them to be denser, reinforced. Reducing her risk of injury from maneuvers and impacts.”

I swallowed hard. “Experiments” sounded ominous.

“I have no idea what you are even talking about,” I announced. “The only thing I’ve ever ridden is a horse. Certainly not a dragon.”