A Vow of Blood and Tears

50. Bane

Chapter 50

Bane

T hree weeks on Forian soil, and I felt that I was going to scratch my way out of my own skin soon.

There was nothing here for us. Nothing but the slowly listing remains of the tower and the hungry brambles.

I eyed those thorns, churning like a living being across the plain. Their bloodroses were fat and lush, every petal flawless, fed on blood and bone.

My wife’s blood, my wife’s tears. Two ingredients that were so simple, so ordinary, and yet together they created an ancient charm—one long forgotten by my people.

I stretched out a hand towards the wall, taunting the brambles as I did every day. They stretched out, thorns glistening with menace, always falling just short of their prey.

With the vines straining towards me, inches from my fingertips, thorns as black as poison, I considered the knowledge they had imparted to me.

To them, I was a warg, a being of great evil.

And I found that I no longer cared. The man I had been was long dead; the vampire I had been was overwritten by the creature I’d become. I’d spent years mourning that loss, and for what? Nothing. It had brought me nothing but pain and misery.

It was acceptance of that evil, of the monster I’d become, that had saved Cirri.

The Silver Sisters might find me an abhorrence. The Silent Brothers might think me a distorted creature. The humans of Veladar might believe me terrible, and my own people, the vampires, might consider me a necessary evil, but I was at peace with it.

Cirri lived, and with her own blood and bravery she had bound the wargs into death. And she only lived because of what I was.

So all was well, serenity filling me. I would burn the slashed portrait in Ravenscry. I needed no reminders of what I had been. What I was now… it was enough.

I curled my hand away from the vines. They hissed, furious at the loss, but slowly slithered back into the whole.

I strode back to the tent where Cirri slept, wanting to watch over her as she dreamed. At times she jolted awake, forehead beaded with pearls of sweat, heart racing so loud I could hear it like a drum.

She couldn’t yet tell me what she dreamed of at these times, but I thought I knew. With love and acceptance, she would heal in time.

Cirri was neither sleeping nor alone when I swept aside the door, peering in. Wyn sat beside her, her hair once more a shining gold, the lines smoothed from her face and hands. In the time since Cirri had bound the wargs, there had been time to feed, time to sleep.

Wyn slept only three hours a night, the rest of her time devoted to tending Cirri’s lingering wounds and studying the brambles, not to mention the golems that had torn themselves free, fresh and renewed, from the ocean of thorns.

But she had fed from Visca, restoring her youth, because she was tired of slowly hobbling from tent to brambles and back again.

None of the fiends had fed, and the knights were beginning to thirst; blood was in short supply around the camp. We needed to return to the Rift, but Wyn had been both afraid to move Cirri before the worst of the injuries healed, and unwilling to leave the charmed brambles without samples and days of study.

Now she held my wife’s hands, gently palpating her through the bandages.

“Look, dear, he’s here. We can do this now.” From the barely-constrained tension in her voice, she’d been trying to convince Cirri to remove the bandages for some time.

Cirri looked up at me, her green eyes huge with anxiety. I knelt beside the camp cot, sliding an arm around her warm waist, and gazed up at her.

She was not the sort of woman to shy from necessary pain. Fighting off a shudder, I remembered her hands when I’d carried her through the field. The shattered bones, the bruised flesh. They had not been recognizable, and to Cirri, they were the part of her body she needed the most. It had taken Wyn nearly two full days to piece them back together, working as fast as she could against the healing nature of my blood.

“Do you fear that they won’t be the same? Or that they won’t work?” I asked, and she closed her eyes with relief, nodding.

So that was her fear, and it was understandable.

“I know you’re afraid to look at them and see what was done to you. I know it was… the worst thing you’ve ever felt.”

She opened her eyes again, gazing at me miserably, and I pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder—as the blood in me was consumed, the extra fangs had fallen out, and my lips nearly covered them again. I could kiss her once more.

“I think you would tell me yourself that what’s done is done, and now you must live with it. There’s only one way forward.”

Cirri stared at me, then a faint smile curled her lips. She took a deep breath, leaning against me, and offered her hands to Wyn.

That was my woman, my brave, pragmatic lover. She knew as well as I did what must be done, fears or no.

Wyn began unwinding the bandages of her right hand. I could hear Cirri’s heart racing, the quickness of her breath, and squeezed her gently.

Wyn discarded the piles of white gauze and turned her attention to untying the splints, frowning all the while. She tossed the sticks aside, and we all leaned over to examine Cirri’s hand.

It was slightly paler than the rest of her, because it was silvery-pink with scars. Her nails were thin and new, her knuckles still swollen, and her pinky and ring finger were ever so slightly crooked.

But it was whole, more or less. I looked up at Cirri when she sighed, her eyes brighter than usual.

“Oh, well done, me,” Wyn murmured, gently flexing and prodding. “The scars will never fade, Cirrien dear, nor will the bones be fully straight in some of them. It was simply too much damage to erase. And your fingers will be stiff for some time—you’ll have to exercise them, limber the muscles and loosen the joints. But they will fully heal.”

Cirri made her soft huffing sound, happy laughter spilling out of her. Almost giddily, she offered her other hand to Wyn.

We looked at them side by side when it emerged. Her hands would forever bear the signs of what had happened, but they were complete, painstakingly repaired.

She raised her hands, frowning as she tried to flex them. Her movements were clumsy and stiff, but she had the line between her brows—the one she got when she was dead-set on something.

Wyn sighed. “I suppose telling you to take it slow would fall on deaf ears?”

Cirri nodded, spreading her fingers wide.

“Well, don’t cry to me when you’re in terrible pain, then—” Wyn started to say waspishly, but Cirri leaned forward and threw her arms around her, hugging the bloodwitch tight.

Wyn’s scowl wavered, and finally broke. She patted Cirri’s arm. “There, there, dear. All will be well. But do try not to ruin this work. Putting entire hands back together… that took more effort than most of my art.”

Cirri released her and wiped her cheeks on the backs of her stiff hands, still smiling.

“It’s time, then?” I asked, moving aside as Wyn gathered the cast-off wrappings. “You approve?”

“Yes.” Wyn looked at her consideringly. “I’ll expect you to ride in the wagon for most of the way, Cirrien, but yes. The healing has gone well. Let me go collect a few final samples before we leave. I don’t want to have to return to this benighted dungheap of misery.”

She left us, and I helped Cirri out of bed, cautious of her hands. We dressed, and she used her own fingers to carefully lift her bag over her shoulder.

My lover took my arm, standing in front of me.

She frowned, and slowly, carefully said, I did not leave on my own.

“I know,” I said gently, inwardly wincing at her sluggish, pained movements. “You don’t have to—”

She shook her head. Listen to me. Artist could… imitate. He wrote a letter. I did not.

Artist… she meant Miro, unable to spell names phonetically with her brittle fingers. With the way she was moving, stiff and healing but determined to say her piece, it was already a struggle to understand.

“Miro wrote it?”

I had realized, almost too late, that Miro was almost certainly the fox in the henhouse. I had rejected the letter she had left me, determined to have her back, and at times, I had wondered if he had forced her to pen it… or if she had written it, and Miro had merely taken advantage of her plans to leave.

Cirri pushed me until I sat on the cot. It creaked alarmingly under my weight, but she stood in front of me, forming her words with deep concentration. Some were difficult to decipher, her fingers too swollen and stiff to move with her usual grace, but she moved slowly enough to follow along.

He imitated my words perfectly , she said. And he used… the girl. Maid.

The maid. Ellena. And I knew instantly what was coming.

He said any writing he saw, he could recreate. He sent letters in her writing, too. And he took me from the castle. He told me what he had written. I would never write such a thing, Bane. I was coming back to you when he took me.

I thought of the letter, the words that had carved out pieces of my heart until there was nothing left in my chest but a hollow cavity, an endless abyss of nothing.

But I had ignored those words, turning on them, choosing to disbelieve them… because deep down, I didn’t truly believe she had meant it. Or written it.

I nodded, but Cirri scowled harder, and I had to gently take her wrists to stop her from signing until her fingers ached.

“I believe you,” I said simply. “He shared his mother’s artistic talent, and possibly inherited some form of her memory. I’m not at all surprised to learn he may have hidden that talent and put it to his own self-serving uses.”

Cirri exhaled, her brow smoothing, but her lips were still turned down. Maid did not betray you.

“I know.” The moment she had told me of Miro’s hidden talent, I knew, a cold jolt to the heart. I had murdered Ellena even as she sobbed out her innocence. “But what’s done is done. I will carry that on my conscience forever.”

That’s why you can’t be the old you , she told me. Because you’re not at peace with your actions. He…

She frowned, and shaped the words ‘big wolf’.

“Hakkon?” I asked, and she nodded.

He enjoyed killing. You must love it, or be at peace with it, to shed the fiend skin again. That was how he looked human, Bane.

I looked down at my hands, braced on my knees, massive and misshapen.

To shed this hated skin… to be the man in the tower, handsome and confident that he deserved glory and his princess…

I didn’t deserve her, but I would take her. From the moment I’d realized she was gone, I had vowed to get her back.

But I would remain what I was, her protector, her monster. Not only hers, but the entire Rift’s. Even if I managed to make peace with my actions, the cold-blooded murders I’d committed, they required something of my kind to guard them.

?nowing that, I would never make peace with it. I was as terrible as Hakkon, and I would spend an eternity atoning.

“I won’t ever look human again,” I told her. “This is what I am. I haven’t made peace with what I’ve done, but I’ve made peace with who I am. Perhaps I am a beast, but I’m your beast.”

Cirri smiled a little, and bent forward to kiss my forehead. And that’s who I love , she said.

That word, after we’d danced around for it so long. It wasn’t until she was gone that I understood I should have said it while I could, that they were the only words that mattered.

“I love you,” I said, with a great sigh of relief, and gave her my most hideous grin. “Gods, I love you more than anything.”

I’ve been waiting for you to say that.

I looked up at her, those green eyes shining, and debated with myself. I needed to tell her. The brambles would not lie. I should not lie.

“Then I hope you can still believe it… Cirri. Sit down.”

She sank onto the bed next to me, head tipped curiously, hair spilling over her shoulders.

“What you wrote… that wargs and fiends are the same.”

I didn’t… I didn’t mean to compare you to them, or to say you’re the same—

Cirri flushed, and I took her hands, stopping her. “No, listen to me. We are the same. You’re right. Cirri, I told you when I killed Ellena. I’m not noble. I’m as evil as they are. But I try… to do it for the right reasons.”

She kept her hands in mine, eyes boring into me.

“You know I drink—used to drink—from convicts. Some small way to try to repair the balance of what I’ve done.” I snorted derisively. “It will never repair it. To become a fiend is the same as a warg. To slaughter the innocent in cold blood. When I told you of the ritual to become a warg, I was also speaking of myself, and my brothers.”

She signed so slowly. I saw what they did. When they made the artist a warg.

I held her gaze, unwilling to look away. She deserved to be looked in the eye when I told her. “Cirri… that is what I had to do. That’s why my kind both loves and loathes me, and holds me at arm’s length. It wasn’t just my sacrifice, it was the sacrifice of people who had never done anything wrong in their lives. It was necessary to become what I am… and it was true evil.”

He told me this , she said. That it was the same. That was what I meant.

“At least he spoke the truth about that,” I said bitterly. “I killed dozens of innocent people to become a beast. I bathed in their blood, I danced to their screams. The thorns and roses know. They reach for me, hoping to catch me in their trap and bury me.”

She was shaking her head, but I didn’t stop.

“I slaughtered my own to protect my own.” The words were blunt but true. “A necessary evil, but still a great evil. Which is why I must tell you. I love you so much that I cannot let you go. I never will. I’m too selfish to allow it.”

I sighed, knowing that I had put all my happiness on the line. “But you should know what loves you, and if you can love it in return. You should at least have a choice in that.”

Cirri gazed at me, and I wondered if it was judgment that I felt burning in her eyes, a kindling hatred that would cut me down over time, piece by piece.

The minutes trickled by, until I thought I might explode. My claws tightened, pricking my own skin. A pain I deserved.

Finally she lifted her hands, and I prepared myself for the worst; the knowledge that she would despise me forever, my love her cage.

I still love you , she said. I don’t care if it’s wrong. I’m selfish, too. I love you and that’s final. But I expect you to show a little restraint in the future. Don’t let your anger add more deaths to your conscience.

I stared at her, not entirely believing what I’d heard. How could she love me, after what I’d told her?

But the selfish part of me howled with victory. She loved me, and she was mine.

“I will,” I said hoarsely. “Whatever you ask of me.” Cirri touched my cheek, smiling slightly.

I have so much to tell you , she said. But please, Bane, take me home .

I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it, tasting newly-spun skin. It already smelled like her, the familiar scent I craved.

“As you command, my lady.”

We left the sea of thorns by moonlight, nothing but blood and trampled grass left to mark our passage.

No wargs came, nor human Forian soldiers; the end of the wargs, and our people’s plight, had ended as a secret drama enacted behind a curtain. One day I was sure I would receive a letter from Radomil, demanding to know why the bloodroses of the vampires were growing on his territory, but it could be many years before anyone came to this blighted corner of Foria where the wargs had held sway. This was dead land now, a cursed territory.

My legions moved quickly, desperate to leave the brambles behind. Every knight was disturbed by them, and Wyn and Andrus alone seemed fascinated by the things.

My brother had turned back to gaze at them as we marched towards the mountains.

“It’s not the answer,” I told him.

He was burning his fingertips again, rubbing his thumb on the pendant. His silver eyes were distant. “Don’t fear, Bane. I have many years left in me.”

But I was sure he’d marked the location in his mind, hoarding the knowledge for later; for a day when he gave up on his quest for salvation and chose a bloody penitence.

I wanted to tell him that giving himself up to the thorns would not erase his deeds. They would not wash him clean.

But that was something he needed to come to terms with on his own. I had learned that myself.

It was only a day later, as the legions marched upwards on the mountain trail and the horses pulled the wagons behind them, that Andrus gave one last look to the north, and bowed his head to me.

“I part from you here,” he said. “And I wish you both nothing but happiness.”

I embraced him, and we walked down to the last wagon, where I’d piled pillows and blankets and tucked Cirri into the nest.

Leaving us already? She asked, and I translated her words for him. Her fingers were shiny, greasy with a balm Wyn had given her; in the boredom of being carted home, she was massaging her knuckles and tendons, exercising her fingers’ movements. They grew more limber by the day.

“Someone must spread the news across Veladar.” Andrus smiled at her. “Cirrien the Wargbinder. Now families will sleep easily, at peace in the knowledge that the time of the wolves is over.”

She stared up at him, and flushed a deep red. That’s… a bit much for someone like me.

Andrus laughed when I translated. “We all earned our names,” he told her. “Now you’ve earned yours. I’ll see you again one day, my lady, but home calls. The Mother smiles on you.”

He bowed to her, and she raised a hand in farewell. Andrus slipped off on his own, scaling the mountains far more quickly than the legions could.

Voryan had slipped off the night before without a word of goodbye to anyone, as he usually did. Only Wyn was irritated at his manners, but the Lord of the Moor had never given much of a damn for etiquette or receiving thanks, and he clearly wasn’t going to start now.

I was grateful, nonetheless, that he’d joined us.

Wroth remained, having vowed to see us to Ravenscry before he returned home.

“It’s a respite,” he grumbled. He often walked near Cirri’s wagon, close enough that it was obvious he was watching over her, just far away enough to maintain plausible deniability.

It took over a day to cross the mountains; we could have cut the time in half by taking the route under the mountains, but I took Visca, Wyn, and Wroth aside, telling them of what I’d scented while tracking my woman.

No one was happy about it; we all agreed that with the wargs gone, it would soon be time to cast our eyes downward once more, and continue what we’d begun when our kind first went Below.

But not now, at this very moment. The Fae-things below would wait, and it was unanimously decided that no one was to take the under-mountain route again.

When the wagon finally descended onto Rift soil and the ground leveled out, I helped Cirri out of the wagon. She had healed enough to walk and stretch her legs again. Two of the legions broke off and headed south, delivering the news to every village and town in the Rift.

Ravenscry was quiet when we arrived outside the gates. I looked up at them, remembering how fractured I had felt when I last left… and now I felt that I was returning whole.

Cirri leaned on my arm as the guards opened the gates, her eyes fixed on the towers.

The first time I ever came here… I was terrified. I felt like I was in a fairy tale, but the kind where everyone gets eaten in the end . She looked up at me ruefully, then sighed. And now it’s home. I never expected that. At times I still don’t feel that I deserve it.

“Deserving has nothing to do with it. It’s yours, and you’ll stay by me for an eternity, of course. As the Lord of the Rift, I demand it.”

Of course , she said, glancing at me sidelong under her lashes. And the Lady gets no say?

“The Lady won’t want to argue with my decrees, because she’s going to be very, very busy as my new Scrollkeeper.”

Cirri went still. I thought… I would only be working on the translations. I thought perhaps you wanted to find someone else…

“Who else?” I asked, pulling her aside. I led under a vast pine, into a clearing where the mist hid us from view. “Who else has made the effort to become fluent in six languages? Who else deciphered enough of the High Tongue to use a charm that old?”

She stared up at me, face pale, hands knotted at her sides.

“Who else?” I asked again. “There is no one else. I’m not giving you the position, Cirri. You earned it yourself.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and closed her eyes for a moment.

That was everything I worked for , she said. That’s my dream. After we married, and I thought the Silver Library was lost to me… I didn’t want to exist just to be a figurehead. I need to do something with my life.

“You will. You’ve done a great thing, and you’ll do more. And I know you’ll do it credit.” I held her, and she melted against me, hiding her face. I felt the heat of tears on my chest, but she wiped them away, smiling. “Now, let me hear you say it.”

Cirri looked up, eyes wide.

“That you earned it,” I clarified.

She swallowed, and raised her hands. I earned it.

The first movements were tentative, and then she raised her chin, eyes flashing. I did. I earned it myself. And I will make something of it.

“You did,” I murmured, stroking her hair. “Never believe otherwise.”

It’s going to take centuries to study it all , she said, laughing. I want to start now .

“My lovely one, I know you eat, sleep, and breathe books, but no. I don’t think you’ll die if you have to wait until tomorrow.”

Yes, I will , she said, still grinning, but the smile fell away by degrees, and she became serious. Bane, there’s things I need to look at. Things I need to research. The reason the wargs came back, and why… why fiends are like them. I had a theory, and I’ve vindicated it, I believe, but I need to look for myself.

“What theory is this?” I asked, frowning.

She gazed up at me, chewing her lower lip, and finally raised her hands.

I’ll tell you when I’m sure. If I’m to be the Scrollkeeper, I can’t come to you with conjecture and blind faith. I must come to you with irreproachable proof.

I was taken aback for a moment, the selfish part of me wanting to demand what she thought, but she was not a girl, or a servant. She had earned her title and position for herself, and I would bow to her greater knowledge.

“Of course, Cirri.” I kissed her briefly, and gave her a wicked smile. “Lady Wargbinder.”

Oh, do not , she said, flapping her hands at me to drive the words away with disgust. A new flush had touched her cheekbones, painting them pink. I did it on a wing and a prayer. I could just as easily have died and taken all of you with me.

“That’s half of battle, love. Most of it’s sheer luck when the strategies fall apart. How about this: Lady Scrollkeeper of Ravenscry.”

Much better . Her eyes glittered. Standing there in the pines, with the mist curling around her crimson hair, she seemed more beautiful to me than she’d ever been before. Despite her injuries, she stood up straighter, her shoulders back; some confidence she’d clawed away from her ordeal and taken for her own.

I remembered how small she’d seemed the first time she walked in. How uncertain. A woman trying to compress herself into an invisible ball, waiting for the world to slap her down.

There was no sign of that uncertain woman anymore. She was fully, completely Cirri as she should be.

“Come then, lover,” I said, holding out an arm to her.

She took it, and together we strode into Ravenscry.

Come, both of you .

Cirri signed to us from the Bloodgarden below. Dressed in green velvet, her hair gleaming in the faint misty light, she seemed like one of the bloodroses come to life. The golems trailed her as they had been doing for two weeks now, unwilling to be separated from their mistress.

It seemed that with her abduction, they had learned to fight commands, straining against any order that took her out of sight. Cirri had finally given up, posting them in the library as her assistants, and even now they trooped obediently behind her with stacks of books and scrolls.

Fortunately, they either respected us, or Cirri saved all her willpower for the sole command that they remain in the Tower of Spring at night.

Wroth, leaning on the balcony, stared down at my wife, and before he turned away I caught the envy in his eyes.

“I’m not too proud to admit when I’m wrong,” he said in a quiet growl. “I’ll admit that I remain unconvinced for my own future, but at least one of us has escaped hell.”

I shook my head. “I wish I could give you more hope.”

Wroth glanced up at me, blue eyes catching the sun so they gleamed as pale as snow. “In a way, you both do. I can’t begrudge you happiness.”

Neither of us took the stairs down; Wroth leaped down, landing lightly on his paw-like feet, and I climbed down the walls, claws gouging into the stone. We followed her, trailing her sweet scent.

Cirri waited in the middle of the library, directing the golems as they organized the scrolls and books on a marble-top table the servants had dragged out for her.

Her hands were healing, the scars so fine and interlaced it almost looked like she wore thin silver gloves; only the slight crookedness of several fingers, and the scars themselves, gave away that they’d ever been ruined at all.

Wyn and Visca are coming , she said. What I have to tell you is important.

Wroth and I sat obediently in the chairs she pointed to. I was to act as her translator; with Brother Glyn’s lessons, I had reached a point where I understood most of what she said.

I smiled at her, receiving a blush in return, but at this moment, she was the Scrollkeeper, not my blushing bride.

To watch her in her element amazed me. Perhaps I hadn’t earned my good fortune, and maybe I didn’t deserve it, but I would never, ever take it for granted.

My advisors joined us shortly afterwards, Wyn’s sleeve smoking slightly from a charred hole, Visca looking more relaxed than she had in years. With the death of the wargs, the constant stress of a looming threat had been swept out from beneath us.

“Go ahead, dear,” Wyn said, gesturing airily.

Cirri looked at us all, her eyes moving from face to face. Anxiety had tightened her shoulders, the downturned corners of her mouth betraying her tension. She took a deep breath and exhaled.

Very well , she said, and I spoke softly as she moved. She put a hand on the table for a brief moment, touching the scroll. For now, this must remain between us, until you decide what you want to do.

Wyn leaned forward, producing a small notebook and pen from her sleeves, and she immediately began jotting notes.

Much of this is based on hearsay , Cirri said firmly, lifting her chin. But with my research, I’ve corroborated the evidence, to a degree that I believe what I’m about to tell you is true.

Visca shifted in her seat, head cocked, eyes narrowed.

I gazed evenly at my bride, imploring her to remain confident.

Cirri licked her lips, swallowed again. You’re all—you, as in vampires—you are the children of Fae. You and wargs are both Fae-born, or Fae-made, descended from common ancestors.

Wyn looked up from her notes, affronted. “Come again?”

Mother Blood. Father Wolf, or Wargyr, as he’s now known . Cirri touched a crumbling scroll. Thurn Hakkon was the one to give me this information, and I’ve found it here. This scroll dates back to the Migration Era of the Fae, prior to the Red Epoch. It took a lot of digging to find it .

She glared at it for a moment; so that was where she had spent many late nights.

The scroll contains artifacts of the mythology of that time. Humans thought of certain Fae as gods, but thanks to this document, we know that it’s more likely they were simply a very powerful, influential dyad, rather than actual gods in a pantheon. But I’ve questioned Wyn about Fae creations —Cirri tipped her head to the bloodwitch, and Wyn’s eyes narrowed— and the cities in the Below .

“And I told you that the Fae were great occultists and innovators,” Wyn said slowly, still squinting at her.

Yes . Cirri beamed. They were. And between the two of them, they created two sibling races: the vampires and the wargs.

But the Mother loathed Father Wolf’s vicious, untamed creations, and he thought her vampires too… too staid, too concerned with the trappings of civilization. I haven’t the evidence to pinpoint the exact time, but eventually the two split in a bitter, bloody feud, each taking their favorite children with them.

From what I’ve pieced together, Mother Blood brought her children to Veladar, where the keeps were built, and the early years of the Red Epoch began. They drove out Wargyr during this feud, and created a charm in which to bind wargs, fettering their vicious siblings. The Fae-made creations of Mother Blood ruled for nearly a thousand years, opposed by none.

Visca rubbed her temples. “Fae. I see. And now, if this gets out…”

“Chaos,” Wyn spat. “Madness. I’d give it three days before the Rift-kin started repairing their Arks and sieging the walls, and we’d be the tyrants for defending ourselves and slaughtering them.”

Cirri nodded slowly. I can’t speak for the rest of Veladar, but the Fae are no more than fairy tales in Argent. I do believe the Rift-kin might choose to revolt, but… there’s more to tell before you decide.

She gestured to Rose and Thorn. Rose fiddled with a gold earring, and Thorn’s arms were crossed, his faceless glower unseen but felt.

The ancestry of your kind becomes obvious when we look at them. You melded sanguimancy with an ancient golem so easily, Wyn; what else could the blood arts be but an offshoot of the Fae’s occultism? Cirri looked at them fondly. But it was hidden knowledge that nearly ended this country forty years ago. The charm for binding wargs… I still haven’t fully translated it. I’ve been focused on proving the folklore I received from both Miro and Hakkon. But the charm itself was lost in Liliach Daromir’s time, when humans burned the keeps and as much vampire lore as they could get their hands on. So much was lost, not only the binding ritual and blood magics, but the vampires’ own knowledge of their progenitor and creation.

As you told me, Visca… your elders died in that first century of living Below. All knowledge of the High Tongue was lost to your kind. But it was that exact knowledge that kept the wargs at bay until fifty years ago.

“The first Forian invasion,” Wroth murmured, almost to himself. He leaned back, arms crossed in a mirror of Thorn’s pose, almost insouciant, but his pale gaze on Cirri was intent.

The first Forian invasion, in which a young Thurn Hakkon appeared from a backwoods Forian village, and joined King Radomil’s army as a loyal soldier. Cirri’s gaze moved to me, and she smiled slightly; I had provided much of the lore here. Or so it seemed. In truth, he was recruiting for his family’s cult, and he found many willing followers.

She moved around the table, touching another book—the ritual book. It’s in here. Kept hidden in this keep for centuries, and unreadable by any living vampire today. With this, the Forian advancement and Hakkon’s wargs could’ve been stopped.

“That’s why the brambles hated us so,” Wroth said quietly. “I felt their hunger and their hatred—it’s because in some distant way, I am kin to those things.”

To become a fiend is to accept Wargyr’s blessing, in a manner of speaking , Cirri said. I suspect it was his little revenge on Mother Blood, but I’ve found nothing to prove that suspicion yet. But Hakkon told me some of what his family taught him, lore passed through stories for centuries. I believe Wargyr brought his small family when he fled, hiding in the depths of Foria. He told them of Mother Blood, taught them how to complete the ritual, how to dissociate from one’s own evil actions so strongly they could shed their wolf-skins and walk among men again. He also taught them that to spill unwilling blood and tears of agony would break those charms. So… that’s how Hakkon terrorized my people. He did it to ensure wargs could walk freely all across Veladar.

Cirri took a deep breath, her eyes distant. But that’s neither here nor there. What I wanted to tell you is that your kind are from the Fae. And before you made a decision about what to do with that knowledge, I wanted to point out the repercussions of hiding it. If you lose it, as the charm was lost, then one day we may find ourselves in this same situation. If not for sheer luck—

“Determination,” I said, interrupting the translation. “If not for your determination, Cirri.”

She startled, then smiled faintly. If not for determination leavened with luck, then, this charm would have remained lost. I would have died, or been forced to turn warg. Your legions would have been lost, along with the four of you. And Hakkon, or his children, would have spilled back into Veladar. I think it's important that whatever knowledge we have now is preserved and protected.

Wyn nodded, tapping her pen against her notebook. “Preserved, protected, and hidden . I don’t fancy having my tower bombarded by catapults. There are very delicate experiments in there.”

This was hidden , Cirri said, resting her hand on the ritual book. And it nearly cost us all.

“But the wargs are dead, and we have the weapon to defeat them.” Visca frowned, torn between them. “I need to measure the likelihood that we’ll be attacked by angry Rift-kin against a nullified threat.”

Wroth scoffed, finally leaning forward. “It’s very simple. The Scrollkeeper translates the book in full, and makes copies. Each keep possesses its own copy, protected against any threat—including the humans living in the keeps. If someone is untrustworthy, they must not have access to the translated binding charm. That could be turned against us. I know my own wife would not hesitate to find someone who would cry tears of love for the sake of killing me.”

“Agreed,” I rumbled, breaking off from my silence. “It’s a danger to us as well.”

Then the binding charm will remain separate from the whole, but protected , Cirri said. We can keep it from the wrong hands, but it must be accessible to the Four Lords, and their trusted vassals, in the event that a warg survives and returns.

Wroth added, “As for our provenance, Auré can speak to her little circle of artisans, writers, and thespians. Bit by bit, they could leak the knowledge into the commons. In a hundred years or so, humans will be well aware of our beginnings, with nothing left to hide.”

Cirri gave him a brilliant smile, and Wroth grumbled under his breath, ears twitching as he looked away.

The bloodwitch scratched her nose with the tip of her pen. “It could work, I suppose. Fel Marchand’s already got human women slavering at the blood shops for vampire swains… I suppose if anyone could make our vulgar inception palatable, it’s her.”

“And if the Rift-kin are still jumping at ghosts in a hundred years, we’ve failed anyway,” Visca added, her face gloomy at the prospect. “Fine. I’m in agreement.”

So, I’ll finish the translation and make the copies , Cirri said. That’s the most important thing, that we don’t lose what you’ve regained.

Visca leveled a glance at her, lips quirked. “That’s one way of putting it. Pleased as I am with the charm, it’ll take me some time to come terms with being… related to the things we saw Below.”

You’re not , Cirri said, her motions gentle. Maybe in the loosest possible sense, but your kind was created by Mother Blood. You are her perfect creations, and as the histories pointed out, she split from her people and homeland.

Visca merely shook her head. “Maybe so, but my gut says otherwise. Do we even have ancestors? Or do we pray to ghosts as well?”

Cirri licked her lips, uncertainty filling her eyes, but Visca stood and strode swiftly to her, clapping her on the shoulder. “Don’t listen to me whine, lass. I try not to shoot the messenger, but, you know… shit happens.”

Cirri let out a breathy laugh, and Wyn stood, shaking out her robes. “I have too much on my mind to wade into a morass of theological dilemmas.” She sniffed loftily, tucking her notebook in her sleeve. “But I can’t say I like it. It may take more time than we think. Humans won’t be the only ones to struggle with this knowledge.”

Cirri shrugged, lifting her hands. If it takes longer, so be it. I’m only doing this to preserve the truth and recover what was lost.

“And a damn fine job you’ve done thus far,” Visca said cheerfully. “We’ll muddle through together. I’ll give it thought while I whip the legions back into shape. Without those damn dogs, they’re getting fat and lazy.”

Our advisors took their leave, and Wroth stood, stretching luxuriously, but as he settled, he had eyes only for Cirri.

“Well done, Scrollkeeper,” he said quietly. “You give me hope. Send your Silent Brother my way when you’re done with him, Bane. I’d like to be able to hear my little sister’s words for myself.”

“Line his pockets with gold, and he’ll teach you all he knows.” Cirri leaned into me, looking inordinately pleased and embarrassed by Wroth’s words, and she rested her cheek on my chest as my arms encircled her. “Do you leave for the Rivers now?”

Wroth raised his head, sniffing the air. “I have half a mind to extend my absence with… a little hunting trip.”

“The Rivers needs you.” I tried not to squeeze Cirri too tightly, trepidation filling me. “You cannot abdicate without naming an heir, brother.”

“Abdicate?” Wroth scoffed. “And let that conniving whore take Owlhorn? No, never. But when the day comes, Bane, you call me. Whatever is left Below, kin or not, I look forward to driving it out.”

He raised a hand, striding away from us without looking back and scaling the wall easily.

I hoped he would find his way, but doubt still curled within me.

Cirri watched him go, clenching her hands nervously. Below? She asked.

“They’re not quite as dead as we believed, or they’re creeping back in. If I could bring Miro back to life and kill him again, I would,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “I smelled them in that mineshaft through the mountain.”

She went pale, her breath catching. I spent that whole journey in fear something would find us. To think one was within arm’s reach…

“Not quite that close. Don’t fear, lover. Visca will need something to do, or she’ll become as neurotic as Wyn. Without wargs to hold her attention, she’d be happy to roust anything Below beyond our borders.”

Cirri nodded, her face still grave, and I leaned down to kiss her.

“Do you trust me?” I asked. “That I would never let them have you.”

The answer was in her eyes, but she said it anyway. With all my heart .