Chapter 41 Lia
Lia
Twenty-three days till the Hunter’s Moon
“I have something to tell you,” Arctos said over dinner.
They were cozy at their table as the hearth fire burned, a cocoon against the cold and snow. Firelight shifted over his scarred face, making it difficult to read him—too many shadows, too many ways he hid behind them.
Lia kept her tone light. “Oh?” In Ravinelun, this could mean anything from good news to imminent death. Ravinelun loved its range.
She’d been sitting on her own confession of fangache. But she hovered at the edge of friendship with Arctos—something precious and precarious—and wanted nothing to get in the way.
Her thirst had vanished as quickly as it came, and that night she’d been out of her head from a bear attack and near drowning. And from the vodka!
Of course things had gone awry inside her.
Since then, she hadn’t felt it again—not even a little—until she began to wonder if she’d imagined it.
If she wanted friendship, she had to prove she deserved it. A tiny lapse, a drunken fever dream…why drag it into the light?
Now she smiled faintly across the table. “What is it?”
“First, an update about your friend Nadje,” he said. “You’ll be pleased to know she’s safe and thriving. In fact, she has partnered with Inkletter. They smuggle now and do general mercenary duties.”
Lia’s jaw dropped. “Those two? Partners?” Truly, the Skein never lacked for irony. After everything between them? Betrayal, lies, manipulation.
“So I’m told. They sold information to a friend of mine that proved useful, so I’ve decided to give Inkletter a chance to redeem himself. He and Nadje will use their connections to comb the Skein for any vampires who don’t drink blood.”
Lia’s chest loosened. A little breath of hope. “That’s wonderful!” Maybe abstaining just took practice and willpower. Maybe she wasn’t innately a monster.
“Also,” he continued, “the clan is hosting a banquet on the night of the Hunter’s Moon. You’ll accompany me.”
Her fork clattered. “Can I?”
“You must.” A ghost of a smile. “It’s in your honor. To welcome you officially into the clan.”
“A banquet…for me?” The words trembled from her lips. Warmth surged through her—followed instantly by guilt, sharp and throbbing as a fangache.
He’d asked little of her. Only honesty. And she had given him almost enough.
“Dagny suggested it,” he added. “The queen approved.”
Lia had only glimpsed Dagny from afar, Torben always guarding her like a dragon over gold.
As if Dagny couldn’t take care of herself.
Arctos had proudly relayed to Lia the accomplishments of his warrior cousin-in-law.
“Do you think the others will accept me?” Or merely tolerate me in ceremonial silence?
“There’s only one way to know.”
She asked softly, “Have you accepted me?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he said, “I took your point the night of your near drowning: How can I learn to trust you if I never give you freedom to prove yourself?”
She studied him, the fire reflected in his eye. “Trusting a vampire could mean disaster.”
“I’m convinced you’re no infiltrator for Bloodreach.”
“Why? What changed?”
“Your work ethic. You rise before dawn, push past exhaustion, work until your hands bleed. Over the years, I’ve encountered evil, and I’ve never met an evil being with ironclad discipline.”
She swallowed hard. I do work hard. I love to work. Maybe I’m not creepy and wrong?
Training was going better than she’d imagined. She’d gained strength, muscle, color. She’d mastered basic sword work so well he’d advanced her to archery and close-quarter drills. She’d even joined him on a hunt.
“Why not?” he’d said. “You know the ravines, and winter is about to set in. With the way you’ve been eating, we’ll need to fuel you with extra game…” He’d trailed off, looking as though a thought had struck too close to the heart. She hadn’t asked why.
That day she’d dropped an elk with a clean arrow shot. He’d called her a born hunter, then bit his tongue as if the words tasted wrong.
Now Arctos continued, “I believe you’re honest, which means I believe you when you say you have no prey drive. And that means you deserve to be trusted by your own clan.”
The words should have comforted her. Instead, guilt scored her heart.
She parted her lips to confess—
The cave flap whipped open. A blast of snow rode in on Torben’s broad shoulders as he entered, a storm in the shape of a man.
He gave a curt nod to her, eyes troubled.
Torben was never cruel, nor openly hostile toward her. But he had no kindness in him for a vampire. She often wondered if bloodthieves had harmed him personally, leaving wounds she couldn’t see.
Lia had the same question for Arctos, but nothing could make that male shut down faster than asking him about his past.
Everyone here seemed to carry ghosts; some just wore them louder.
Torben addressed Arctos in Old Norse. “The clan’s newest member has been here for weeks. I want to know anything she’s told you about her kingdom.”
Anything? She’d revealed much to Arctos. Lia rose smoothly. “If you two need to talk, I can train outside.” She grabbed her coat and sword and stepped into the night, pretending not to understand a word.
But her pulse raced. Why hadn’t Arctos told his cousin about the enslaved Berserkers? Would Torben not wonder the same?
***
Arctos
He watched Emilia exit as if she had nothing to hide, yet he knew better. Secrets clung to her like shadow to flame.
But he had his own.
“Did you tell her about the banquet?” Torben asked, looking fatigued. He’d been stretched thin of late, seeming to see a threat in every shadow.
“I did.” Arctos stood and clasped his cousin’s forearm. Close up, the change in Torben was stark: dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and the bloodshot gleam in his gaze made him look dangerous. Unpredictable. “Our thanks to Dagny.”
Torben drew back. “Our thanks,” he echoed with a laugh as bitter as rust. “What a difference a few weeks can make.”
“Yes.” It had been mere weeks since the morning Emilia had demanded a place in the clan—since her trembling hand had touched the Channeler Stone, courage shining through her fear.
Maybe, in time, he and Emilia could be friends. But nothing more. His scars ran deeper than flesh. Truly accepting a vampire as his wife just wasn’t possible for him. And the queen had to have suspected that.
“Dagny decreed I must be civil to Emilia,” Torben said. “I suspect you also wish me to be. I am trying.”
“I appreciate that.”
“But you must know your wife will come to crave blood. All bloodthieves do.”
“She refuses it, has set her considerable willpower against such thirst. And she might not be alone. Inkletter and his new partner are looking for others like her.”
“You’ve forgiven the incubus too?”
“He’s useful,” Arctos said, unwilling to explain the quiet shift within him—the fading of old anger, the first thread of something like hope.
Torben’s tone hardened. “You’re keeping things from me. A rift grows between us, and I won’t leave till you mend it.” Berserker forthrightness coupled with Berserker resolve.
Arctos had hoped to stall until after Dagny’s labor, but Torben was a wall when he wanted answers. “I consider you a brother, and I want no rift between us.”
“Then tell me what you’ve learned.”
Arctos exhaled. “Very well.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Emilia told me vampire royals keep Berserker slaves in the castle. A hundred or more. Used for blood.”
Torben went still. Too still, like an animal before it springs. “Captured?”
“And bred.”
A terrible silence followed as Torben’s rage swelled. His fingers flexed open and closed, knuckles cracking audibly. A muscle jumped in his jaw, twitch-twitch-twitch. “How long have you known? How long has the queen known?”
Arctos admitted, “I told her soon after Emilia got here. She’s…investigating.” He’d kept Yrsa updated as she’d asked, but she’d put him off, telling him to dig more.
“When is the rescue mission? When do we leave?”
“There is no mission currently planned.”
Torben’s eyes fired silvery, his fury erupting; he seized the table and hurled it aside. Chairs and trenchers flew. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d react exactly like this. You’re already stretched thin—Dagny near her time, your Berserkerage close to breaking.” Right now he hovered at the brink.
“Don’t you dare say I’m compromised!”
Arctos gestured at the debris. “A curious way of proving you’re not.”
“Make me understand this. The queen knows that vampires use Berserkers as godsdamned food. Even if she can ignore the suffering of her people, she can’t ignore the scalding insult of it!” Torben began to pace, each turn sharper than the last. “Why hasn’t she ordered a rescue?”
“She has reasons. Reservations. I’m not privy to her thoughts.”
“Or she doesn’t trust what your vampire says.”
“Maybe.”
“Look at Yrsa’s other choices,” Torben pressed. “She could send you to the Helter and let you blaze through to ohalla. If she gave you leave to journey to the Kingdom of Rhun, you could become immortal with a single demon duel.”
“I have enough to handle with Emilia’s training,” Arctos said, a thin excuse even to his own ears.
“Still loyal,” Torben spat. “You have to wake up.”
Arctos’s own anger flared. “Loyalty means holding firm when it’s tested. Otherwise it’s not loyalty at all. How can you ignore our history? We wouldn’t exist without her. We wouldn’t have thrived without her. The first channeler led our people here.”
“Were you loyal when you hid Emilia’s escape attempt?” Torben shot back. “When you asked me to help conceal it?”
A gust of breath. “No. I wasn’t.” The admission only hinted at the conflict inside him.
Torben let the point drop—merciful, for once. “You should be able to demand answers of your queen.”
“And if I do? If I uncover proof she’s compromised, do we assassinate her? Split the clan? You’d risk Dagny, your child, now?”
Torben froze, expression filled with conflicting wrath and reason. His fingers trembled slightly, as if the effort to be still cost him.
Arctos continued, “Have you forgotten what Yrsa is like on a battlefield when she is in full Berserkerage? Her power is near mythic. And she’s surrounded by guards who would die for her bear.”
Torben’s gaze sharpened. “Are you in love with her?”
Arctos blinked. “No.” The word came out rough. His feelings were complicated—but love? No. “I’m trying to be sensible. One of us must keep our remaining family safe.”
The silvery rage left Torben’s eyes, leaving bewilderment. He swayed slightly, as if drained by the force of his own fury. “What will it take to make you see?” he rasped. “Brother…when will you wake?”