Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A trius led me to his bedchamber. Unlike in Alka, he didn’t take the warlord’s room this time—mostly because Tarkan’s was covered in blood and guts. Instead, he’d chosen a more private, smaller apartment on the top floor of the castle. It was separate from the rooms of his closest advisors and guards. A good example of his arrogance—he was totally unconcerned by potential threats.
When I first met him, I would’ve seen this as a weakness, nothing more than hubris. Now… I had to admit, it seemed like it would take a truly incredible assassin to end Atrius.
This thought floated through my mind before I remembered that I was supposed to be this assassin.
The heavy curtains were drawn in Atrius’s room, leaving the chamber dim, lit only by a fire and several lanterns.
After Naro’s explosively emotional presence, Atrius’s wall seemed even thicker than ever.
“You need healing,” I said. “I’m sorry, I?—”
But Atrius just shook his head. He gestured to one of the armchairs by the fire, and I sat.
He went to the table and retrieved a ceramic cup. He held it out to me, and when I just stared at it, he took my wrist, lifted it, and pressed the warm mug into my hands.
“Tea,” he said. “Apparently expensive. Tarkan liked it. ”
He didn’t let go of the cup, his hands over mine.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“I’m tired.”
He did not believe me. But he let me go and took a seat on the other armchair, anyway.
For a very long, very awkward moment, neither of us spoke.
“Drink it,” he said. “You’ve barely eaten or drank in two days.”
I laughed flatly. “You’re keeping track.”
“It’s impossible not to notice everything, with you.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected from him. But it was not that.
I took a sip of the tea because I didn’t know what else to do. It was a little bitter and a little sweet, and just the right amount of hot.
It was, I had to admit, nice.
“A brother,” Atrius said. “Yes?”
Weaver, how did he know?
“He looks like you,” he said, answering my unasked question. “And he called you that name. Vivi.”
The corner of my mouth twitched with a sad smile. Odd to hear Atrius say it, his accent rolling over those two sharp syllables.
“That was my name before the Arachessen,” I said. “Long time ago.”
“It suits you.”
“I didn’t—I didn’t know he was alive.”
The words slipped out without my permission. Maybe I meant them more for myself than for Atrius.
It’s not your fault he ended up this way.
You didn’t know he was alive.
Atrius picked up another mug, but he didn’t drink from it, just held it in his lap. “I’ve heard,” he said, “that the Arachessen take their recruits as young children.”
“I was… older than most. They almost didn’t take me because of it. Ten.”
“That is still very young for humans,” he murmured. “Isn’t it?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
The last day—days? Had it been days?—had been a blur. For the first time since the attack—since finding Naro—I allowed myself to think back to it. Funny how two days ago, the idea of seeing Tarkan dead was so exhilarating. In reality, I’d barely glanced at his body. And I’d paid no attention at all to the rest of Atrius’s takeover. Totally abandoned the role I was supposed to play.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been present?—”
Atrius just raised his hand.
“You knew Tarkan,” he said.
It wasn’t a question. Atrius, I’d come to realize, did not ask questions. He made demands or statements. In between, he’d quietly gather information.
Sometimes too much of it.
I hesitated with the tea halfway to my lips. Then took a sip.
The more I showed him, the more he would trust me. I told myself this and ignored the tiny part of myself who found an odd comfort in sharing these things with him.
“I grew up in Vasai,” I said. “I never met Tarkan personally. But… I was a child during the Pythora Wars. I saw him make his takeover.”
I thought back to our attack. To the moment Atrius had Tarkan’s throat, and he still hesitated, giving me that shot.
“You were going to let me be the one to kill him,” I said. “Why?”
His eyes slipped to the fire. “I could see that you wanted it. And you deserved it.”
He said it simply, like it was fact. And I hated that this flooded me with—with—what, affection? Gratefulness?
It shouldn’t have. Yes, he was right, I desired revenge. But that was a vice. It was no great kindness that he had offered me.
Still… it meant something, even if I wished it didn’t.
Atrius set the cup aside and leaned forward, his forearms on his knees.
“You may have gathered by now,” he said, “that my people have had a… fraught history.”
“You mean the House of Blood’s curse.”
Perhaps he flinched at that. Perhaps it was a trick of the firelight.
He hesitated before saying, “That was the start. Nyaxia’s spiteful curse, two thousand years ago. But… my people have endured far more than my kingdom’s suffering.” His face hardened briefly, th en his gaze fell back to me. “Humans may believe that vampires don’t understand what powerlessness feels like. And for many, maybe that’s true. But those that follow me do. We understand loss. And we know that it is the worst kind of powerlessness.”
The words were stilted. But the meaning behind them was softer than I knew what to do with.
I cleared my throat.
“You said you wanted to talk business,” I said. “How long do you intend to stay in Vasai?”
Atrius blinked, as if caught off guard by the change of subject.
“Not long,” he replied. “A week or two. Then we will move on to Karisine.”
It stood to reason that Atrius would want to move quickly. We were getting closer now to the Pythora King—his ultimate goal. And Karisine was the next major city-state standing between us and the north.
My brow furrowed at that. I was grateful to have something to think about other than Naro or the past I wasn’t supposed to remember. Battle strategies and espionage were so simple comparatively.
Karisine was a well-fortified city, especially considering that Atrius was losing numbers with every city-state he needed to maintain control of. The idea of taking it by brute force seemed outrageous, and unlike Tarkan, its ruler had not set herself up for such easy assassination. Furthermore, Vasai and Karisine were closely connected by a number of communication routes, far more than Alka had. They’d be prepared for Atrius’s arrival.
I was supposed to be learning how to understand Atrius by now, but I couldn’t fathom how he intended to pull that off.
“It’s going to be… challenging,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
A suppressed smile tugged at the corners of Atrius’s mouth. Like a cat that was secretly hiding a canary in its teeth.
My brow twitched. “You have a plan.”
“I always have a plan.”
I wasn’t sure that was true. He always managed to make it work, I would give him that. But part of what made Atrius so difficult to understand—what made him such a formidable enemy—was that his plans didn’t make sense to anyone else but him. Sometimes I thought he conducted warfare like he fought in battle: entirely in the moment, responding to every change in circumstances in real time, impossible to anticipate.
“So?” I said. “Prove it. Enlighten me.”
He seemed to debate whether he wanted to or not.
“Are you familiar,” he said, “with the island of Veratas?”
“Yes, but—barely. It’s… a nothing island, isn’t it?”
Tiny. Uninhabited. Close to the eastern coast of Glaea.
“It was,” Atrius said. “Easiest conquering I’ve ever done.”
My brows rose now. “Conquering.”
Again, he was silent for a long moment, his eyes far away, a gentler smile playing at his lips. It was a strange expression on him, all those hard lines softened, even under the harsh light of the fire.
“There’s a settlement,” he said.
He spoke so quietly I almost didn’t hear him—like he was bestowing a precious secret to me, delicate as butterfly wings.
“They’ve lived there for a few months now,” he went on. “The husbands and wives and children.”
My lips parted in shock. His civilians? The families of his soldiers were… right over there, in Veratas?
“I—I’d assumed they were in the House of Blood. In Obitraes.”
Atrius shook his head. “No.”
I knew he wouldn’t answer. But I had to ask anyway.
“Why?”
His threads shivered slightly, as if beneath an unpleasant cold breeze.
“My people,” he said, “are not welcome back home.”
My people.
All this time I thought he’d meant the House of Blood. No. He meant his people—the ones who had followed him all this way.
His eyes lowered to the carpet, the fire reflecting flecks of gold in them.
“So,” he said, “I’ve had to find a new one for them. Or find a way to let them return to theirs.”
The wall over his presence, normally so impenetrable, suddenly disappeared, letting forth a wave of deep sadness. Not my brother’s wild grief. This was quiet and constant, like something that had just been accepted into one’s bones.
I felt an echoing ache in mine—something that, perhaps, had always been there, but I tried not to look at too closely.
“Why?” I murmured. “Why can’t you go home?”
Atrius’s eyes at last flicked back to mine, steel-stark against the firelight.
For a moment, the vulnerability in them shocked me.
And then the wall returned, and his back straightened, and his face hardened again. He cleared his throat, as if to force away the remnants of his honesty.
“My cousin, one of my generals, will be launching another offensive from the island,” he said. “Her men will roll in to support us from the sea, under the cover of the mists.”
He was trying to make this discussion businesslike again. It didn’t work. We had exposed too much to each other.
All at once, the realities of my role crashed down on me. In one day, three versions of myself who were not supposed to coexist—Sylina the seer, Sylina the Arachessen, and Vivi the lost little girl—had collided in the most confusing ways. The pieces of myself didn’t fit together. They were ugly contradictions.
A lump in my throat, I rose and crossed the room, each step closer to Atrius shivering up my spine.
What are you doing, Sylina?
He said nothing. But his eyes didn’t leave me, the way a predator’s tracked their prey. And yet, it wasn’t quite a predator’s hunger that shivered in him.
I lowered myself onto the arm of his chair, my legs touching his, practically in an embrace.
He didn’t move, but I sensed his heartbeat quicken.
I pressed my palm to his chest. His skin was warm, almost hot, like he was fighting back a fever. Beneath his flesh, I felt his curse eating at his threads, a gaping, starving mouth of necrosis.
“You’re in pain today,” I said softly.
“It’s fine. ”
“You didn’t call for me.”
“You were busy.”
“I’m surprised that mattered to you.”
His head tilted slightly—so, so slightly, like it wasn’t even intentional—as if to resist the urge to bury it in my hair.
He didn’t answer for so long that I thought perhaps he wouldn’t. And maybe I was grateful for that, because no matter how much I told myself that I was getting close to him because it was my task, I knew whatever he would say would cut too deep.
I was right.
“It matters,” he murmured.
Two words that could mean nothing—should mean nothing.
It felt like they meant everything.
“Your brother will be safe here,” he went on, “for as long as he needs.”
My chest clenched. I was grateful for the hair curtaining my face. But then gentle fingers pulled it back, placing it carefully behind my ear, the brush of his fingernails against my cheek striking me breathless.
“Thank you,” I choked out.
I wasn’t acting.
Others would tell me that Naro would die of his addiction or its withdrawal. Others would imprison or execute him as a war criminal. I couldn’t blame anyone for either of those things—certainly not Atrius, the monster, the cursed vampire, the conqueror.
And yet. Here I was, being presented with this gift. Compassion.
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you helping him?”
An aching pulse, like the throb of an old wound. “Because we lose the past so fast. We should cling to those who made us who we are. And because, if the one I considered my brother was alive, I would want someone to do the same for him.”
Brother.
I thought of a body in the snow at the feet of a furious goddess, a wave of grief, and a hole that would never be filled again.
So many things about Atrius almost made so much sense. Almost. Like I was missing a critical puzzle piece.
I whispered, before I could stop myself, “Why do you want to conquer Glaea?”
A beat. Then, “Because I’m an evil, power-starved monster.”
He said it so flatly, like it was an actual answer. Not long ago, I thought that was the truth, and would have told him as much.
But now…
Atrius could be monstrous, perhaps. But he was not Tarkan. He was not Aaves. He certainly was not the Pythora King.
Now it was my turn to expose him, to force him to let me see what he would prefer to hide. I touched his chin and tilted it toward me. When his eyes flicked to me, they remained there—like he could see right through my blindfold, to the broken eyes beneath it.
I murmured, “I don’t believe you. I want the truth.”
This was what I had been sent here for. Truth.
I told myself all of this, far in the back of my mind, as if there was not a part of me that wanted his truth for more complicated reasons.
He flinched, the faintest twitch of muscles across his face.
“I can’t give you that.”
“Because your people need a new home.”
A pained hint of a smile. “If only it was that simple.”
My palm was still pressed to his chest, over the loose cotton fabric of his shirt. Slowly, I slid my hand up, inside his shirt—finding bare skin.
He stiffened, but didn’t stop me. Nor did he move. He barely breathed.
Deep inside him, the curse burned and ached.
“The past is devouring you.”
He let out an almost-laugh. “So bold of you, to talk to me that way.” Rough, scarred fingertips touched my face, the contrast between his skin and the touch so stark it made my heart stutter. His gaze lowered, lingering on my mouth.
“Do you think I don’t see,” he said, voice low, “that the past is devouring you, too?”
I knew that a wounded soul craved another to mirror theirs.
That was all this was .
But my soul was hurting, too. And perhaps I, too, craved someone who understood that.
I didn’t move my hand from Atrius’s bare chest. Nor did I move when his hand slowly flattened against my cheek, fingers tangling in my hair, cradling my face.
And when he came closer, closer until his breath mingled with mine, I let him.
Even when the space between us disappeared entirely.
His mouth was soft. Almost shy, at first. And when my lips parted against his, a little ragged breath escaping, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue, soft and damp, sliding against mine, releasing his own shuddering exhale.
Gods.
He was alive, and broken, and familiar, and mysterious, and dangerous, and safe. And for one terrible moment, I wanted so fiercely, I forgot everything else. My hand slid against the topography of muscles in his bare chest, running down over his abdomen and settling at his side. His grip tightened in my hair, pulling me, and gods, I let him—let him urge me closer, let his tongue roll deeper into my mouth, let myself open up to him. My other hand found his cheek, his hair, running through the smooth tendrils and resisting the overpowering urge to grab it and pull him closer.
He broke the kiss but I chased it, tilting my head for another angle. Every time we came together again it was fiercer, like waves crashing in a storm. Our bodies were now entwined, my breasts against his chest.
And I couldn’t pretend anymore this kiss was his alone.
Because Weaver, I wanted more of him. Wanted to embrace the darker, forbidden sides of the desire that sleeping beside him every night had stirred. The kind of desire I was only allowed to explore by myself at night, my hands between my legs, or occasionally with another Arachessen willing to bend the rules with me up to wherever we decided the line of our vows had been drawn.
He wanted me. I knew it now, by the rigid length of him pressing through his pants. I had known it for weeks, every time we lay down together and woke up in an embrace .
My palm against his bare skin kept moving, sliding along the muscles of his torso—sliding down. When the tip of my little finger brushed against the waistband of his trousers, he abruptly jerked away.
That was enough to make me snap back to awareness.
My face was hot. My heart pounded wildly. For a moment, Atrius and I just stared at each other, his eyes wide.
What had I just done?
The realization of what more I almost did—what more I wanted to do—hit me like a bucket of cold water.
His nostrils flared, and I realized that he was taken aback by his own desires, too—perhaps even more than I was.
He rasped out clumsily, “Not tonight.”
I slipped my hand from his shirt and extracted myself from his lap as gracefully as I could manage. I was determined not to show that I was shaken. Yet I was so aware of the way his throat bobbed when his gaze ran up my body, and the way he tensed when I stepped away from him.
Not tonight. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Did that mean, Another night?
I had taken a chastity vow. Yes, I had seduced men—and women—many times in the course of my missions. It never made it as far as sex. But for some Sisters, I knew it had. Everyone knew. Even the Sightmother. Even, of course, Acaeja. We accepted it as a sacrifice for the greater good and looked the other way.
I couldn’t think about that.
I gave him a smile that tried to be charming, but probably looked weaker than I intended. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s gotten late?—”
I started to turn away, but Atrius caught my wrist.
A long moment of silence stretched out between us. He stared at me with those eyes that seemed to skewer right through me.
And just when I thought he didn’t have anything to say at all, he spoke. Four words in Obitraen.
“What did that mean?” I asked.
He just shook his head and let me go. “Take care of your brother,” he murmured, and turned to the fire.