Palace Of Flames (Book One of the Damnata Series)

Chapter Sixteen: Drowning Lessons

The Archaic Temple, Damnatalia

[Kristy]

I look warily around me, not wanting to say anything in case it sounds completely idiotic.

I am standing in the middle of a grand hall, the marble flooring glaring from the light of the chandeliers above our heads. The walls are a glorious golden colour, like the colour of the rising sun on a clear-skied summer morning. The ceiling is dome-shaped, patterned with hand-painted images of cherubs, sunrises, blue skies, stars and angels with trumpets, making for a glorious masterpiece. The windows reach from a foot or so from the floor to the point of the wall where it only just begins to curve inwards, and there is a stage-like structure at the front of the room, with a few steps leading up to where three gloriously large and golden thrones are positioned, side by side, each one the same size. The only difference between the three thrones is the Immortal seated in each one, three Immortals that are obviously the well-spoken and well-loved Militia of the Damned.

"Ah. Laurence Helyer. It has been too long since we last met." A young woman of around twenty or so stands quickly yet elegantly, all-but gliding across the hall to stand before Laurence, who is clutching my hand protectively and reassuringly. Her eyes are the brightest of yellows, a startling cat-like amber, the same as one of the two males still seated at the front of the hall, but the similarities end there. Her hair is a long red blaze, her skin pale and seemingly pore-less, marble-smooth and perfect. She is tall, with a slim face, perfect figure and high cheekbones. I envy her.

"Yes, Rosetta, it has been far too long."

"Around five hundred years, yes?" She smiles. Laurence takes her hand, bringing the back to his lips gently, and a pang of jealousy springs through me. He glances towards me for a moment, before smiling ever-so-slightly. 'Don't worry', his eyes seem to assure me, 'she is nothing but a close acquaintance'.

"And Seth Coma." Rosetta smiles at Seth. "Still wearing those outrageous goggles, I see."

"Of course, ma'am." He replies formally, face lacking expression.

"Oh, please," Rosetta smiles slightly wider at the Vampiire, "call me Rosetta. I do not care for such unacquainted and hostile formalities."

"As you wish, Rosetta, ma'am."

And then the two males rise from their seats, eyes studying us.

"Laurence." The taller of the two males, with auburn hair and a rounded face, nods slightly at Laurence. "Seth." He nods in Seth's direction, and then looks to me, walking forward slowly. "You must be the Oracle, yes? Larten's greatest idea ever."

Laurence's jaw clenches at the sound of his father's name, and his gaze hardens, eyes turning cold, mouth set in a straight and grim line. I squeeze his hand reassuringly, and he nods, snapping out of it.

"Yes, I suppose so." I reply.

"Then you are Kristy Motionless. Greetings, my dear, I am David. This is my younger brother, Oliver." He takes my hand, kissing the back gently, and I flush slightly red. He smiles slightly, and then Oliver steps down the few steps to walk across the marble flooring. His boots thump against the marble flooring as he walks, and then he stops to cock his head at me, bright-emerald eyes studying me intently. His white-blond hair falls over his face thinly, and he frowns slightly, before taking another step towards me and sticking out his hand for me to shake. I do so sheepishly, and he nods in a vague greeting.

"You're Kristy? 'Lo." His accent is Welsh, a softer and gentler version of David's rough bark.

"Uh...hi." I blink at him, surprised that for someone that looks so rough and emo, his accent just doesn't fit.