game

Edythe

"But not the villain. No, I don't believe that."

Beau's voice whispered in the back of my mind as I raced through the darkness alongside the Romanians. I was glad, not for the first time, that there were none among them who could read my mind. If they knew the raging conflict, the weakness, they surely would not have hesitated to take advantage of it.

Beau would hate what I was doing, I was sure of that. He might not condemn me like Royal would, but if he were in my place, he wouldn't join forces with the Romanians, and he wouldn't try to take down Sulpicia. Sulpicia was the one stabilizing force in our world of violence, while the Romanians were the very worst of our kind, reveling in destruction and, if they had their way, would take the world back to a time where they might once again indulge their savage appetites to excess.

But in spite of my doubts, compounded by the worried thoughts of Brena, Tiam, and Demia, I had made up my mind. I knew whatever Sulpicia had planned for Beau would probably be a death sentence, and I could not fight Sulpicia on my own. Besides—perhaps the Romanians were, on some level, right, at least in that maybe it was time for Sulpicia's reign to come to an end. Sulpicia had often abused her powers in the past, and was far from the perfect personification of justice that she tried to project. The Volturi's existence had protected many, but equally many had suffered, the blameless as well as the guilty. Perhaps her time had come.

I ran in silence—trying all the while to convince myself of my own excuses.

The Romanians never offered to tell us where we were going, but of course I already knew. The journey all together took just a few hours, including our painfully slow passage across the Nile, where the population density spiked and we were forced to be proceed more carefully. When we arrived at the empty sands on the Sinai peninsula, our clothes were soaking wet from our swim across the Suez Gulf. While Amun cursed and complained—the clothes were not uncomfortable for us, of course, but were not the most sightly and would certainly attract attention—the Romanians had apparently been prepared, and recovered a large bag they had hidden along the coast with a dry change for everyone.

Tiam was quietly insistent that Brena and Demi be allowed to change in private, away from the Romanians. Brena agreed she would be more comfortable that way, but Rahela, who had certainly not missed the three younger members of the Egyptian coven's reluctance and was on guard for any attempt at treachery or escape, instantly tried to shut it down. However, Brena offered to take me, so that I could keep an eye on them. Amun, ever eager to keep Brena and her immense talent happy, jumped in and agreed, and somehow managed to smooth it over.

We walked away down to the water's edge, leaving Rahela to mutter furiously about unproductive, human-like over-sensitivity. In the poisonous sea of Rahela's thoughts, this was one thing I could have agreed with—I was not particularly concerned with modesty at the moment when, as I looked to the dark sky, I knew the sun would be rising on an Egyptian early summer morning very soon. However, we still had time, and as of course I knew Brena and Tiam's real reasons for irritating Rahela, I decided not to fight them.

As soon as we were a fair distance away and concealed from view of the others in a deep sand dune, Brena turned to me and whispered in a voice too fast and low for the others to hear at this distance over the crashing of the waves, "Where are they taking us?"

"A small airport named El-Tor," I muttered back, as I quickly stripped out of the dress I had bought at Cairo, along with my regular clothes underneath, which were also soaked to the skin. "It only rarely has departing flights, but the Romanians came here in a small craft of their own. Thanks to bribes, they have an understanding with the authorities there, so their flights are always off the record. The Romanians avoid going through any major airports, because they fear Sulpicia is watching—a fear not unfounded."

"And from there?" Demia added, as she quickly pulled a beige dress down over her head—the Romanians had provided native clothes similar to the ones I had picked up, for the value of the way they concealed the skin, and the fact the sizes didn't need to be exact.

"From there," I muttered, barely breathing the words as I stuffed our wet clothes into a bag, "we will be landing at another small airport, in the heart of Romania—Transylvania. They have taken over a series of caverns there which they have been using for training, where they have collected their latest batch of rebel forces. It is only one of many such places they have used over the centuries, but this one is particularly large and well concealed."

Whatever their feelings might be toward me, they were both grateful for the information. The only thing more unsettling than traveling with the likes of the Romanians was to be traveling with them and not know where they were going or what they planned. The Egyptians deserved this much at least.

We returned to the others, with Rahela snapping at us to hurry up, before day could break. Amun eyed us with some suspicion, though he wasn't sure of what, while Kebi watched us with quiet, passive eyes. Tiam and Brena shared a look of meaning—the two of them reminded me just a little of Jessamine and Archie, and the way they could almost read one another's thoughts. I knew they would find time later to be alone to share what they had learned, and even if they didn't find a time, Tiam seemed calmer, just knowing that Brena knew something more than before.

We all took off again, toward the airport.

The flight went smoothly. The two guards Vladimir and Rahela had brought took over the small private jet, and Vladimir went to stay with them in the cockpit. The guards had been with them for many years now, but Vladimir still didn't fully trust them—he didn't trust anyone. Rahela remained with the rest of us, glaring around at each in turn. It would have been a good time to brief us on the their plans, but she didn't speak.

I didn't need any debriefing, but I still wished she would say something. Just to break the silence. I felt jittery—I would have liked to be moving as opposed to sitting idly on a plane, even though the rational part of my brain knew that the thousand or so miles, much of it over the Mediterranean Sea, was much faster flying than trying to go around by foot or swimming. I could not escape the feeling that every minute might be bringing Beau closer to whatever Sulpicia had planned for him and, very likely, his end. The thought was so unbearable that, for moments at a time, I forgot the others were there, and I almost ceased to function.

However, I knew I was going to drive myself insane thinking this way, and it wouldn't help Beau. So instead I concentrated, forcing all my attention on the swirling thoughts of the others. The physical voices in the cabin might have been quiet, but their minds certainly weren't, and I knew if I was going to have any hope of succeeding in the next stage of this desperate, perhaps ill-advised plan, I needed to have a deep understanding of not just what the others were thinking, but how they thought. Knowing how to push their buttons to make them do as I would need them to do, predicting moments of treachery—there was so much there to learn, and I needed to be able to make sense of it. And be prepared to make sense of the multitude of new rebel minds I would soon encounter.

It was mid-morning when we reached the airport in Romania I had seen in Rahela's mind. In spite of its name, Transylvania International Airport, or Aeroportul Transilvania, it was the smallest of Transylvania's three airports, with few departing or arriving flights. However, the architecture was more modern-looking than the airport of El-Tor, and there were far more people mulling around—normally Rahela avoided any airports in Romania no matter how small to avoid Sulpicia's eye, but as she knew that the window of opportunity for taking on Sulpicia when she was at her most vulnerable may be small, she was throwing caution to the wind in favor of speed.

By the time we landed, we had all changed our clothes yet again, into attire better suitable for Romania. I changed back into the normal clothes I had been wearing before, which had been put through a drier onboard the craft, leaving the Egyptian dress behind. However, I also added another jacket the Romanians provided—jet black, not our usual style for blending in—and placed my headscarf around my neck as a normal scarf, and also added some reflective sunglasses. The others turned up their collars and put on hats and hoods. It wasn't perfect, but as it was overcast above, Rahela didn't seem particularly concerned. She didn't intend to stay in any populated areas for long. I was relieved the Romanians had fed before coming to meet with Amun, and didn't want to spare the time to hunt again.

We headed west, skirting around towns and cities. As we moved away from the denser tourist traps, I saw many a rural village at a distance, many with architecture that wouldn't have been out of place in medieval times. We didn't stop until we reached the Munţii Carpaţi—the Carpathian Mountains.

The mountains were covered in deep green forest miles in all directions, and while a few scattered towns and villages lay at the base not far away, the place had a wildness about it, a grandeur. It was a ancient forest, still hardly touched by human commercial greed.

However, as I had told Brena and Demia, it was not the forest which was our final destination, but an enormous cavern. One of many which I knew to be hidden amidst the winding mountains.

I had seen enough in both Rahela and Vladimir's memories that I could have found the place on my own, even without the distinct scent of so many of our kind headed there, but I kept back, allowing Rahela to lead the way in her usual cold, bitter silence.

As we neared the hidden entrance, I picked up more scent trails of our kind, as did the others. Demia in particular took note of of the many different flavors of scents she passed, counting how many there were, and knowing she could find any one of them if she chose. However, at the moment, she felt that most were close. Surprisingly close. Perhaps even all in one place.

Demia was nervous at this, and I couldn't help but feel the same. I had seen in Rahela's mind just how many of our kind she had assembled for her purpose, and I had already known they would all be here, waiting for us. But as the moment drew closer to meeting them, I felt my tension rise. Especially since I knew the position Rahela would thrust me into almost the moment we arrived.

I let myself close my eyes for a moment, simply going on the ambient knowledge of my location from the others' minds, and concentrated on finding my inner calm. I had to make this work. I had to get the tools I needed to save Beau, and Julie Black, too. There was no room for doubt.

I opened my eyes again, and once more they were hard with resolve.

We reached a break in the forest, near a high wall of rock that jutted up into the sky like a tower. A small stream bubbled nearby—in the past, Rahela had only accessed the place by swimming underwater, which had ensured that wandering nomads could not directly follow them in by scent, even if vampire scents crisscrossed the place all over, but since her more recent amassing of the force that followed her now, they had created an alternative way in. Again, wet clothes were of course no discomfort to an immortal, but there were a few whose vanity did not appreciate the look, even temporarily.

Rahela led the way, going almost straight up the sheer cliffside, hands finding all the sparse handholds with practiced ease, until she came to stand on a tiny outcropping above, covered in sparse underbrush.

We all followed, one after another, until we came to stand beside her.

Wordlessly, without explanation, she ducked down below the brush and vanished from sight. Though it was not visible from below, it opened up into a small tunnel concealed behind the dense foliage. In single file, we each descended into the dark after her.

We journeyed at a brisk pace down a long, winding tunnel, much of it so narrow we were forced to keep our backs bent and our heads bowed. Although it was of course not uncomfortable on our immortal bodies, the narrow, confined space and enforced almost subservient posture left all but the Romanians feeling nervous and exposed. Amun in particular, with his slightly taller frame, did not care for the manner of the journey, and though he did not voice any complaints aloud, mentally he was cursing up a storm.

At last we emerged into a small cavern, where we were all finally able to straighten up.

The place probably would have appeared pitch black to a human, but of course, we had no trouble seeing everything. Jagged rocks on every side, with pointed stalagmites jutting from the floor and stalactites descending from the ceiling like the teeth of some giant beast. However, it was a black hole opposite the chamber, which I knew led to a giant cavern beyond, that my eyes were drawn to, as were Demia's. Even without the many mingling scents drifting back to us, and the quiet sounds of many shifting immortal bodies and muttered conversations, we both knew what lay beyond.

"This way," Rahela said stiffly, and started forward. I felt Demia and Brena share a look behind me, before we all started after her.

We emerged into the enormous cavern, the place I had seen almost continuously in Rahela's mind, now at last seeing it with my own eyes.

We stood on the edge of a stone precipice, which overlooked a vast, open space of flat rock. More stalactites descended down toward us from the high ceiling above, and a stream of water cut through the space at its center.

However, it wasn't that which drew my attention now—but the sea of glittering, bloodred eyes, suddenly, abruptly silent, gazing back at us.

It was not a massive force. Certainly nothing to that the Romanians had amassed back in the ninth century when they had risen to try to overthrow the Volturi, and take back the world from their grasp. It was barely thirty members, not much bigger than Victor's army of newborns had been. However, these were not new, out-of-control newborns, but skilled fighters, many hardened by centuries of experience in nonstop skirmishes and vicious battles. With the rumored loss of Sulpicia's prized talents Jonathan and Alexa, they would be formidable enough.

I again felt a quiver of nerves shiver down the back of my spine. This was not going to be easy.

Of course, relatively disciplined as the individuals of this rabble might be, that didn't mean they worked together like a well-oiled machine. This force had been assembled from many parts of the world, and hadn't been in existence long, and the tension in the air even at this distance was palpable. They would be formidable, so long as they didn't tear one another apart first.

Rahela, however, had learned a variety of tricks to distract them from any internal rivalries or personal dislikes, and, leaving her two guards behind, she went to stand at the very edge of the stone cliff. She looked out over them all, and spread her arms wide.

"Brothers and sisters!" she called, in her usual voice that both rasped with age, and rang with power. "We have returned. As you know, you have all come together for the glorious goal of ushering in a new age—an age free from the oppression of meaningless laws meant to keep us lurking in the shadows like vermin. Now our time has arrived—soon the coward Sulpicia and her minions shall be ground beneath our feet, and once again we shall rise as the rightful rulers of this world, with plentiful blood for all!"

There was a roar of approval at this, fists in the air, feet stomping the ground. "Down with the Volturi!" they chanted in a voice that echoed off the cavern walls. "Down with Sulpicia!"

I watched the crowd carefully, absorbing the multitude of thoughts. At first glance, they would seem all driven as one. However, the image Rahela painted was not pleasing to all of them—some, even as they raised their hands in the air, were wondering what they were doing here. Many were not interested in a world where their kind was known, or in ruling over the humans like gods.

I concentrated, taking in as much of it as I could. I needed to understand them, to see the common thread and know the most effective way to use it.

"The Volturi is weak," Rahela roared, "Sulpicia has nowhere to go. Now is the time to strike!"

More cheers.

"I have gone far," Rahela continued, "and gathered us more strong allies. You all know of course of the Egyptians, who ruled over their humans for many centuries—I bring you the sole survivor, Amun, older than the oldest of the Volturi."

There was more cheering, though this time it was a little more lukewarm. All had heard of Amun, and knew his spotty history. He had survived by dropping out of the fighting in the war with the Volturi, and begging Sulpicia to spare him.

Amun stepped forward, nodding gravely, raising one hand. Kebi stayed close to him, a little behind.

Rahela moved on quickly from Amun, and raised her hand to gesture toward Brena, Tiam and Demi, who all looked like they'd rather be about anywhere else.

"And I also bring you three more warriors from Amun's coven to our ranks, with powerful gifts among their number. We will all crush the cowardly usurpers with ease."

More cheering this time, though it seemed more they were going simply with the momentum of the speech now, rather than real zeal. None of the three looked particularly impressive, and though Amun shot a look at Brena, trying to signal to her to show off a bit of her power, she remained resolutely still, arms folded almost defiantly over her chest.

"And finally," Rahela said, "I have found one other of our kind—one who hates the enemy as much as we do, who has claimed to possess a power great enough to make our victory assured. A general, to lead you into battle and grind the enemy to powder. I will leave it to you to evaluate her worthiness."

Rahela turned. She stepped away from the point of the rock on which she stood, gesturing for me to step forward.

If I hadn't known her intent, I could imagine how off-balance I would feel, the clenching terror of suddenly being put on the spot—as it was, I had been waiting for this moment, and I was ready.

I stepped to the point of the rock, and gazed out over the small crowd. Thirty-two in all. They stared back up at me, faces and minds alike filled with skepticism and derision. Even if I was not an outsider, I was hardly bigger than the very smallest among them, and my strange yellow eyes seemed only to confirm my pathetic weakness. A joke, surely, some thought. We'll enjoy tearing her to shreds.

"Fellow warriors," I called, casting my voice in a slightly deeper timber, making it carry over the crowd. "You do not know me, nor do you need to. We all have our own reasons for wishing to see the fall of the Volturi—those do not matter. All that matters is that, friend, ally, or perfect stranger, we are all united in a common purpose. Sulpicia and her guard will not fall easily—they have ruled for more than a thousand years, and the smoke of the countless bodies of our kind they have slain attests to their strength. However, I possess a power that can aid you—no, that will positively ensure that the age of the Volturi is at an end. I can match Sulpicia, and lead you to victory."

No response. They gazed back at me, some looking slightly perplexed, others with lips curled back from their teeth with open scorn. This so-called general—just a small, slight girl. One with smooth words perhaps, but they had seen nothing to impress them yet.

I gazed around at all of them, conscious of my posture, my body language as they saw it. I held my head high, shoulders back, and stared back at each fighter with hard eyes. I allowed my demeanor to betray no sign of weakness. This rabble had had Rahela attempt to place leaders over them before over the course of the last few weeks, those who might speak well, but were filled with nothing but empty bravado. I could see in their memories what had been done to previous generals—their rending screams echoing off the cavern walls, bit of their bodies strewn over the stone before they were set to flame. Even now, I could smell the incense that lingered on the air.

I swept my eyes over them one more time. "But," I said softly, "I hardly expect you to take my word for it. So, as the one who brought you all together says—I will let you judge for yourselves."

I turned partway toward Rahela. "I propose a series of sparring matches," I said. I had folded my hands behind me, my back impeccably straight. "I would never follow a leader into battle until I had seen him fight, and I would not expect such of those standing here. I will fight anyone who wishes to take the measure of my abilities—every single one standing here, if necessary."

Rahela stared back at me for a moment, her expression betraying nothing, but her thoughts as clear as ever, with no attempt at concealment—she knew of my power, yet adjusting to the knowledge of what it meant, realizing every moment that every thought she had was on view for me to see, was often a long process, even for those of the quickest minds. Or perhaps she still simply didn't care.

I felt a single finger tap on my shoulder, just once, and I didn't have to look to know it was Vladimir.

He leaned close, so close I could feel the wind of his breath against my ear, and he whispered, so low even I could barely hear it, "You may want to reconsider, young one. Those we have gathered here... they have been chosen for a reason."

I didn't turn my head, but I absorbed his thoughts. Vladimir, though his revelry in brutality was no less than Rahela's, was more given to taking a longer view. And while he had no intention of interfering should I fail, he didn't like to see my potential wasted so quickly on such a useless ploy to gain confidence.

I didn't respond, and Rahela was already waving him aside. He reluctantly stepped back to where the two guards stood ready, should the crowd try anything against their master. He still didn't fully trust the guards, but he trusted them more than the rabble.

Rahela turned back to the crowd.

"You heard—your potential new general speaks well. You see already she has no fear." She looked at me again, and her smile was cold. "Very well," she said under her breath. "We will soon see if your strength matches your bold words."

At a single gesture from Rahela, the congregation of vampires parted, leaving an empty space in the middle of the stone. Rahela spoke as though in favor of me, but no one had seen anything to make me any different from those who came before. The two guards, who were always given all the choicest blood they wanted to encourage their continued loyalty, always kept close to Romanians to prevent any of the new recruits getting any ideas, but the generals were never so protected. As I calmly made my way down the steep stone incline to the empty space below, I could feel the anticipation building among the fighters. An eagerness, not to see how strong I was—but to see me fail. To see me punished for my impossible hubris.

I stood in the center of the open area, staring straight ahead, my expression unchanging.

Rahela stood on the stone outcropping behind me. She was relishing the coming fight—she had never believed that I could live up to what I had promised, and my ignorant, foolhardy attempt to win them over with fighting strength proved my naïve inadequacy. But seeing the newcomers torn to bits brought back memories of the old days, when they would set vampires and humans alike to fighting for their entertainment. Back in the days when Stefan still lived...

Brena, Demia, and Tiam, meanwhile, all stood back, feeling varying levels of anxiety. On the one hand, I had attacked them and attempted to blackmail them into helping me, and tipped the balance in forcing them to go along with the Romanians. On the other, they knew I was doing all this for my mate, and had no desire to see me torn apart in a senseless mock battle. Though they could not read minds, they all interpreted the expression on Rahela's face correctly. She lived for violence and death, and she made no effort to conceal the fact.

"First challenger," Rahela called in her dry, rasping voice. "Zafor? Step forward."

One figure emerged from the crowd. Even in this collection of intimidating warriors, he would have stood out—he was taller than the others, so tall his features looked as though they had been artificially stretched. But in spite of his lanky limbs, there was no doubt in the way he moved that he was a seasoned warrior.

He loped out into the center of the empty stone floor with a kind of lazy grace—like a jaguar, coming upon an injured tapir. The absolute confidence of a predator about to enjoy an easy meal.

I didn't need to turn my head to know that others in the crowd were sharing looks and smirking at one another. This was going to be the fastest dethroning of all the potential leaders Rahela had brought to them—I had just made it too easy.

Zafor was watching me with eyes at once amused and curious. He didn't necessarily think I was a bad sort—I had been quick and to the point, with much less grandstanding and pompous speeches than many of the others, and he liked that. He hailed from the Amazon, where actions were appreciated more than words. Unfortunately for me, he never let an opponent win on purpose, and death was probably better than letting me live through the humiliation of being forced to eat my arrogant words.

He dipped his head in a sharp, jerking motion, something almost like a bow of respect.

I dipped my head once in return, before I bent forward, lowering my center of gravity as I readied myself for the fight. He did the same, expression shifting to one of concentration. I saw through the eyes of the surrounding onlookers how we appeared—he, the epitome of a great and imposing fighter, a head taller than almost anyone else in the room, and me, a girl who barely came up to his chest, with delicate, slender features and yellow eyes. It was almost sad.

"Begin!" Rahela rasped.

No more had she said the word, when the entire world went black.

I saw nothing—my sharp, immortal eyes, which could pick out the patten on a fly's wings at a hundred yards, read a book someone was reading across a ball field, were abruptly blind.

This was Zafor's power, and why he had never lost in either an informal sparring match or a real fight. He was a great warrior certainly, but that was not why he was feared and respected by even the most brash and overly macho of the lot. Zafor was gifted—he could cloud your eyes with any vision he chose, and right now, he was not letting me see anything.

As I stood where I was, the darkness around me turned suddenly to an emerald rainforest, trees on every side, small animals scuttling through thick foliage. I made no move.

There was a shout of laughter from the crowd, and I felt a light breeze to my left. Zafor was coming in for the kill—to end this quickly.

Without so much as turning my head, my hand shot out like a snake into the empty air, and I felt my fingers close around an object—the hard stone skin of an immortal arm. I did not hesitate—I spun where I was, wrenching the arm sideways.

A piercing screech like tearing metal ripped through the air, followed by a roar of shock and pain. Zafor tried to pull away, but I, though I could not see him, was on him in an instant. I passed through an image of a giant fern, its green surface covered in glistening drops of dew. I was suddenly behind him and, casting the detached arm aside, I seized the other, pulling it far behind his back to breaking point, and planted my foot on his back.

Zafor was bigger than I was, with considerably more physical strength, but in this position, getting leverage enough to escape was impossible.

The cavern returned—once again I was surrounded by the crowd.

Only they were no longer standing, watching. Instead, they now closed in around us, teeth bared in fury. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall figure racing toward me, a giant black panther hunting its prey—Zafor, with both his arms, nostrils flared, eyes blazing with battle fervor. My eyes flickered down to the figure beneath me—Brena stared up at me, her eyes wide with shock and pain, her severed arm laying several feet away.

I didn't move from where I stood. I ignored the charging Zafor, and the snarling mob. Instead, I bent my head and whispered in Brena's ear, "Do you yield?"

All was silent for a moment, the furious mob frozen in time around me, Brena staring up at me with eyes swimming with fear and betrayal—

Then it was gone. The cavern was still around me, but the Romanians' forces once again were standing back where they had been, simply observing the fight. The attacking Zafor was gone. And the crumpled figure beneath me that had been Brena was now tall, with elongated features. The arm that lay some ways away was long and powerful. The illusion dispelled.

In Zafor's injured pride, for a moment he thought he might almost prefer death—but then reason returned to him, and he slumped in my grasp in defeat.

"I yield," he replied, in heavily accented English.

I released him, and he jumped to his feet immediately, stepping away.

Many eyes stared back at me, no longer with derision and laughter. Shock, disbelief.

Zafor stood where he was, expression perfectly smooth though I felt him struggle against the pain. I turned to two smaller vampires on the edge of the crowd.

"You two," I said. "If you would take care of him."

These two had been war medics in their human lives, one from Britain's red army in colonials times, the other of France. They had taken it upon themselves to preserve the lives of as many as possible during often brutal sparring matches—in a newborn army, replacements were easy to find, but less so with vampires of this caliber. Left to her own devices, Rahela probably would have let members of the force tear each other apart, but Vladimir had quietly encouraged the natural instincts of these two.

The two glanced at each other, not sure what to make of the fact that I had picked them out specifically. However, they didn't hesitate for long, and in an instant were at Zafor's side, carefully coating the end with venom to reattach it. Though he tried not to react, a hiss escaped between his teeth at the contact of the venom.

I turned away from them, and back to the crowd. I raised one hand, palm up. "Next," I said.

There was an uneasy muttering around the crowd. They all eyed me warily. No one approached.

I scanned the crowd once, listening to the babble of thoughts as they came—seeking out someone willing to take the next bout. One fight they might just consider a fluke, even against someone who had never lost. I needed at least one more. My gaze came at last to rest on one amidst the crowd, standing right at the front. A young woman.

"You," I said, locking my eyes with hers. "Step forward."

She glanced around at the others, pointing to herself almost comically, before shrugging and casually stepping out into the empty space before me. Her posture was almost lackadaisical, but of course I knew better.

Like Zafor, she was taller than average, with long, dirty blond hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her mind was different from any of the others there—she sought neither power, nor held a grudge against Sulpicia. Rather, the idea of a rebellion simply excited her. She was an American, born during the Revolutionary War, and even though she wasn't particularly fond of the Romanians or their vision for the future, the desire to throw off a tyrannical and unjust overlord resonated with her.

But even more than that, this was all something new and interesting. And, being an immortal, she had found that often new and interesting were in short supply. She liked to experience things she had never known, to see things out of the ordinary. She had no presumption of showing me up—rather, I was simply a fresh and fascinating thing she was keen to find out more about.

"Didn't catch your name before," she said pleasantly. "Mine's Gweneth, but you can call me Gwen. Nice to meet you."

I nodded once in acknowledgment. "Gwen," I said evenly. "My name is Edythe."

She nodded. "Hey, Edythe."

Gwen glanced back around at Zafor, where now the two medics had convinced him to sit on the stone as they double-checked to ensure they had connected his arm correctly.

"Wow," she said. "That was amazing. No one's ever put Zaf down like that. Believe me, I've tried." She glanced back at me, tilting her head to one side in innocent curiosity. "Mind if I ask how you did it?"

"I will tell you," I said, "after the fight." I added, "Though I will say now that knowing wouldn't make a difference."

"Oh," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. "Wouldn't, huh? Figured it was worth a shot anyway."

My posture hadn't changed, back bowed in preparation for the fight.

Gwen grinned a moment longer, before her expression turned abruptly serious. "Let's go then."

Rahela waited a moment longer, before she called, "Begin!"

I didn't go all out this time. As Gwen launched herself at me in a blur of motion, I slipped to one side. Of course, Gwen's attack wasn't meant to be a straight-on tackle, and as she feinted to the right, then immediately struck from the left, I turned my body just the right amount to avoid it. As she struck again, I raised an arm, deflecting the blow.

With her legs, she sprung away from me, getting back far enough in hopes of assessing the situation. I let her go, simply holding my position and waiting for her next move.

She began to sashay back and forth, trying to keep me guessing as to when she would go for the killing blow. I didn't even bother to follow her with my eyes, only turning my body slowly as she made her way around behind me. She suddenly struck again, going for my exposed side, meaning to use her size and strength to knock me back. Again, I ducked below her hand at the last moment, then swung instantly around, arms raised. Startled, she leaped back again to give herself space to think, and plan her next strike.

Gwen was a good fighter, I could tell that much. However, even though she was older than Jessamine and had grown up in a similarly brutal environment, she hadn't had quite the same level of formal combat training that Jessamine had had under Miguel, and didn't have quite the same natural talent. She also lacked any kind of extra gift that she could leverage to tip the fight in her favor. Combined with the fact that I was a little faster than she was, and that I knew precisely where she would move, and when, she was no match for me.

As Gwen stood before me, fists raised, trying to figure out what exactly I was doing to keep ahead of her and how to combat it, I let my eyes slide closed.

Gwen blinked, startled. "Hey—" she started to say.

I was suddenly behind her. Taken off guard, she leaped away again, trying to put enough distance to get her bearings, but this time, I didn't let her.

My eyes still closed, only seeing myself through her thoughts, I struck her hard in the side. She flew backward, back striking the ground with a terrible, thunderous sound that echoed off the cavern walls. A long, snaking crack tore through the stone beneath her with the impact.

She barely gave herself time to grimace before she was moving again, once again on her feet. But she was too late—I was behind her again, and I struck her in the back, knocking her back to the ground. In an instant I was on her, pinning her to the floor, holding her arms to her back.

"Do you yield?" I asked.

She managed to look at me with one eye over her shoulder. She was grinning, though it was strained.

"Don't have much choice, do I?"

I let her up and stepped back.

Pretending to wince and rub her back in a strangely human way, Gwen returned to the crowd. However, she looked back at me over her shoulder, more intrigued than angry.

I turned to the rest of them. "You don't know me," I said again. "I understand that, and I don't need or expect any of you to personally like me. All you need to know is that we share a common goal—we all want to see Sulpicia's reign end.

"The reason Sulpicia's reign has lasted so long is that she sees deep into the minds of all she meets, and uses that knowledge to always keep a step ahead. Well, as it happens I am the same—only I do not need to touch you. I don't even need to see you. I will balance her unfair advantage at last, and she will fall when she is faced with the very power she has prized."

The reaction to my speech was mixed. Excitement bubbled now—Sulpicia had indeed always seemed impossible to outmaneuver, a force of nature, and if I could do what she did, perhaps they might just have a chance. However, I sensed an undercurrent of fear, too. Such a power, that had taken down their greatest warrior with such ease, and which rivaled Sulpicia's, or was perhaps even greater—

I was overstating, of course. My gift worked far more broadly than Sulpicia's, but I lacked her depth of sight. Even my ability to fight without seeing anything was not entirely a naturally-occurring aspect of my talent. Once, long ago, in one of our many sparring matches, Jessamine had asked me if I could learn to fight with my eyes closed, seeing only through my enemy's eyes, rather than my own. Of course it had seemed like a meaningless exercise at the time, but I had been intrigued by the idea, and eager to take on the challenge. Eleanor had loved it at first, as it was the only time she found she could sometimes beat me—until I had mastered the art, and I was sometimes able to give even Jessamine a hard time, even with my self-imposed handicap. I had never expected that practice to pay off.

But I didn't need Sulpicia's depth of sight, nor did it matter where the skill had come from. I had them now.

"We will soon set out," I said. "The time to strike against Sulpicia is near. I advise you all to get your thoughts in order. I will give you this warning only once—do not let yourselves consider cowardice or betrayal, because the moment you do..."

My eyes swept the crowd, going from one face to another, knowing in an instant all they were thinking, those who had been brave and loyal from the start, and those who had occasionally thought of leaving, or of trying to take over this rabble for themselves. My roving gaze rose up to where Amun and his coven stood on the stone outcrop, and for just an instant, my eyes rested on Brena, who stared back at me with an expression of muted defiance.

"...I will know."

I turned back to the crowd. "Now, we will spend the rest of the day in short sparring, so that I may assess your individual skills directly. Then, tonight, you will hunt, and tomorrow, we will set out. You have been forced to delay for far too long—the Volturi's reign will soon be cut short."

This time, there was a full, resounding cheer at my words, and I could feel the real excitement in their minds. They could see it—Sulpicia would fall. And whether that was because of a desire for a prestigious role in the new ruling body, access to unlimited human blood, or simply vengeance for a past wrong, it didn't matter. Because they all sought the same end result.

I stepped back, readying to prepare the sparring matches, feeling the many thoughts wash over me, all different, yet similar. I felt Rahela and Vladimir's poisonous thoughts among the rest, surprised at this unexpected turn, yet euphoric with savage glee as they indulged in memories of the past and imagined the future they had longed for. Ruling over the humans as gods, feasting on rivers of blood.

Only a few thoughts felt disjointed from the rising frenzy, a few pebbles against a powerful driving current. Brena, Demia, and Tiam were all watching me. I knew what they were thinking, and I knew that they were right—but I had made up my mind, and I was prepared to go as far as I needed to go.

Whether the Volturi would really end up falling because of me, whether it was they who be destroyed or this force, and what would happen after that, I couldn't predict. But amidst this dark place of rebellion and savage indulgence, I knew one thing—I had to get to Beau, and I had to save him. And that knowledge made everything else very simple. Like a complex strategy game, I saw all the pieces on the board, and as I pushed my powers to the limit, I could now see that, to get everything in the right place so that I might reach the point I needed to get to, each play had only one choice, each piece in one direction it must be moved.

Some part of me watched it all with a distant horror. I could imagine the scene how it would look from the eyes of my family—Archie or Earnest, even Jessamine who, more than anyone, understood and appreciated our family's life of peace, having known the darker side. And Carine—Carine, who would never look at me with condemnation, yet would feel the agony as she saw me responsible for causing the pain and destruction her kind, gentle nature could not endure... Knowing that she had caused it by bringing me into this world.

Yet even as that gut-wrenching thought crossed my mind, there was another part of me that felt it only as a distant prick at my conscience. A part of me able to lock that all away for the present, harden myself against it. Be who I had to be.

As I had been someone different before I met Carine, and someone still different after I had turned my back on her and Earnest, and again after Beau—for now, I was someone new yet again. Someone focused entirely on the game. Moment by moment, play by play. And I would keep playing, whatever the cost, until I could be sure Beau was safe again.