Fragile Hearts (TID - Will Herondale fanfic)

Chapter 7: The Start Of The War

Will made his way through the crowd with Eleanora at his side, looking for four seats together. He kept his head bowed, his eyes on the floor.

  "Liam," Eleanora called, pointing forward to four seats.

  Eleanora was the only one who ever called him Liam. It was unique, like something the two shared privately. Will didn't like that it was, but he had to admit—at least to himself—that he liked the nickname.

  Will noticed as several of the vampires turned to Eleanora's voice. He noticed the lingering looks pointed her way. And his.

  Will headed to the chairs and beckoned Tessa and Magnus over.

  Eleanora seated herself beside Magnus, Tessa in between him and Will.

  Will felt goosebumps on his arm, and he reached to pat the pocket of his waistcoat.

  A rustle of whispers went through the room, and Will turned his attention to the stage. De Quincey appeared suddenly from the shadows.

  The audience went silent. Will felt as if he were a compressed spring, waiting to release all his pent up energy. It made him feel jumpy.

  "Good evening," de Quincey said. "Welcome, friends. Those of you who have joined me here"—he smiled directly at Tessa, who simply stared back—"are proud sons and daughters of the Night Children. We do not bend our necks beneath the oppressive hole called the Law. We do not answer to Nephilim. Nor shall we abandon our ancient customs at their whim."

  Will realised that his fingers were clenched into fists on his laps. He felt strained all over.

  "Ease up, Herondale," Eleanora whispered, leaning over to look directly at him.

  From her position, Will could see the puncture mark where de Quincey had cut open her skin, taking blood from her. There were still small flecks of blood on her pale skin, even though Magnus had healed it.

  "We have a prisoner," de Quincey went on. "His crime is betraying the Night Children. And what is the punishment for such treason?"

  "It is death!" cried a voice. The vampire who had cried out was straining forward in her seat, a terrible eagerness on her face.

  The other vampires took on the cry. "Death! Death!"

  Then suddenly, two male vampires, holding between them the struggling form of a human man. A black hood concealed the man's features. Will could tell that he was slender, probably young—and filthy, his fine clothes torn and ragged. His bare feet left bloody smears on the boards as the men dragged him forward and flung him into the chair. A faint gasp of sympathy escaped Tessa's throat, and Will tensed beside her.

  Eleanora simply watched on, her face blank of emotion. Will admired how she managed to keep her face so clear of emotions.

  The man continued to thrash feebly, like an insect on the end of a pin, as the vampires strapped his wrists and ankles to the chair, and then stepped back. De Quincey grinned; his fangs were out. They shone like ivory pins as he surveyed the crowd. Will could tell that the vampires were restless. Restless and hungry. No longer did they resemble a well-bred audience of human theatergoers. They were as avid as lions scenting prey, lurching forward in their chairs, theirs eyes wide and glowing, their mouths open.

  "When can you summon the Enclave?" Tessa asked Will in an urgent whisper.

  "When he draws blood," Will said, and he could hear how tight and strained his voice was. "We must see him do it."