Chapter 21: The Cups

Three courtiers came out of the wings, each carrying a silver cup on a tray.

They set each cup, on its tray, on the boards in front of the three, and drew back.

Lucas did not look into the cups.

The smell reached him anyway, warm and metallic, and Thomas swayed against his shoulder.

Lucas took his hand.

It was ice-cold, and it clamped on his fingers.

"Here is the court's custom," Abysis said, and his voice filled the horseshoe.

"An exile who returns and drinks is forgiven. The sentence lifts. The house takes him back."

He walked the line of them, slowly, with the cane tapping.

"And a vampire who holds a mortal lord freely, as the old law demands, will refuse it."

He stopped in front of Luke.

"Or you can pick up the cup, and I will say that you were never kept.

"That you were a man starving for warmth, who mistook a clerk's kindness for a vow."

Luke did not look at the cup.

He looked at Lucas, and waited.

Lucas said nothing.

It was the hardest thing he had ever done.

He wanted to say: don't. He wanted to say: that's an order. It was in his mouth, and he held it behind his teeth.

If he ordered it, they were not free.

If they were not free, Abysis would be right.

The silence went on.

Luke turned his head back to the cup.

Then he nudged the tray with his boot.

The cup rolled off the edge of the stage and hit the floor of the pit with a clang.

"No," he said.

It was quiet and flat, and it carried to the back of the house.

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