Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
A trius and I both slept easily. We crawled over his bedroll, curled up in each other’s arms, and tumbled immediately into a river of exhausted slumber.
I dreamed that night of a little girl standing before a stone keep in the mountains, and her amazement at seeing the ocean for the first time. But even in my dreams, I could not remember what it had looked like then, to those eyes. And even in my dream, that upset me—I just kept staring at the sea and weeping, even though I didn’t know why.
The Sightmother pulled me away, cradled my face, and wiped my tears away.
“The Weaver demands sacrifices of her chosen few,” she said. “Isn’t it a small thing to give up, to earn the love of a goddess? To earn the love of a family?”
In my dream, I watched that little girl. I had no body. I could not speak.
But I wanted to shout at her, You don’t understand! You already have a family. And you aren’t just giving up your eyes. You’re giving up the sea.
But I could not shout with no voice. The Sightmother took my young self by the hand and let her into the Salt Keep. I could not call for her. I could not follow. I had given the Weaver my body, and my voice, and now I had nothing left.
The first thing I became aware of when I awoke was Atrius’s breath, deep and steady. His scent and his presence surrounded me—the latter quieter, softer, than usual. I still wore his shirt, stained with the scent of him and the sea. His body curled around mine, arms loosely encircling me, face pressed to my hair.
It took several long seconds for what had happened last night to sink in. The memories, each more intimate than the last, hit me piece by piece—the kiss, my ripped nightgown... Weaver, his mouth ...
A flush found my skin. As if to check whether it had all been real, my fingers slipped down to my bare legs—pausing at the two small wounds on my inner thigh, now scabbing over.
And if there was any doubt of the rest of it... well, the soreness between my legs put that to rest.
A smile flitted over my lips.
And then, just as quickly, it faded.
I had fucked him. The man I had been tasked to kill.
I had broken my vows to the Arachessen. Broken my vows to Acaeja herself.
I thought I had been making that decision clear-headed last night. But now, all at once, a violent burst of guilt twisted in my stomach. Not rational guilt, not logical guilt—this was the delirious guilt of a child, terrified of a parent’s wrath.
I extracted myself from Atrius’s embrace, careful not to wake him. My pack from the trip to the island was here, tucked away in the corner with Atrius’s things. The sight of it there, so easily accommodated into his life, made a lump rise in my throat.
I was sure the island had been scattered with the belongings of the people who had lived there or the warriors who had been attacked there. All had likely been gathered and sorted by Atrius’s soldiers.
But not mine.
Atrius carried mine himself, just as he had carried me, even when his people were dying.
It wasn’t until this exact moment that I realized: as far as Atrius was concerned, I was one of his people.
I pulled the bag free and opened it. The clothes inside were wrinkled and reeking of sea salt. They, and the canvas of the bag itself, were dotted with browning spatters of blood. Mine, of course—too red to be vampire blood.
The dagger was right on top.
I unsheathed it. It was now sunset, light seeping through the canvas of the tent. Pangs of it glistened on the cold steel. Still unremarkable in appearance, of course, but just holding the weapon in my hands, I could feel the magic forged into it. Powerful.
My awareness fell behind me, to Atrius’s sleeping form. In my absence, he had curled up a bit more, his face pressed to the pillow. His presence was soft like this, the hard edges of his pain and determination sanded away. He seemed almost childlike.
If the Sightmother was here now, she would command me to kill him.
I couldn’t pretend that wasn’t the case. That this was exactly what she had imagined when she gave the order. And if I did it, I would be welcomed back to the Salt Keep with open arms. No one would ask about my virginity, and even if they knew, they would pretend they didn’t. Many Arachessen slept with their targets. Hell, even if I hadn’t, many would assume that I did.
In the scheme of the greater will of the Weaver, there wasn’t a soul who wouldn’t look away, as long as they thought I did what I did solely out of devotion to my mission.
A version of myself from four months ago would have seen this as such a clear-cut decision: This is the moment. Take it.
I saw it as a clear-cut decision now, too.
Because there was no part of me, not even the part steeped in guilt, not even the little girl who thought she owed her entire life to Acaeja and to the Arachessen, that even considered killing Atrius in this moment.
I could not do it.
I would not do it.
I sheathed the dagger .
Atrius’s eyes opened. He never woke up slowly or groggily. He was always simply awake , immediately. Today was no exception, and when those eyes snapped open, they fell to me as instantly as if it was nothing less than instinct.
My heart twisted, a sensation that was one part pleasant, one part painful.
He didn’t say anything, but reached out his hand—a silent beckoning.
Another twinge in my chest.
I crawled back to the bedroll and sat cross-legged beside it. His hand fell to my thigh, fingers brushing the wound he’d left. He lingered there for a moment, like he too was reliving the night before.
“You look better.”
Atrius’s way of asking, How are you feeling?
“I feel better.”
His hand didn’t move. I was so conscious of that touch that it was almost distracting—and yet, strangely comforting. I hadn’t been prepared for how intense skin-to-skin contact with Atrius was. Not the first time I touched him, not last night, and not now.
A flare of desire in his presence as his eyes ran over me told me he was thinking the same thing. And Weaver, it was tempting—the idea of crawling back into bed with him and disappearing into carnal bliss.
But Atrius was not one to find it easy to distract himself, sex or no. And sadly, as much as I sometimes wished otherwise, neither was I.
“Sun is falling,” I said.
We both knew what that meant. Night began, and the work began.
Solemnness rolled over Atrius’s face. “Yes. I need to find out how many we lost in the day.”
A pang of his hurt mingled with my own. It didn’t matter that they were vampires. The scenes I witnessed these last few days were far too familiar—too reminiscent of every death I’d seen at the hands of the Pythora King. It didn’t matter what their teeth or blood looked like. That suffering was the same.
In the wake of the worst events we’d seen, the Sightmother would always remind us that death is nothing to be mourned, simply the will of the Weaver. The others seemed to find comfort in this. But I never could.
For most of my life that had been something shameful.
Not today. Today, I was glad to feel it—the anger at all those countless deaths.
“The Pythora King will pay for it,” I said quietly. “Soon enough. You’ll avenge all those lives.”
Atrius’s gaze and his attention slipped far away, a shiver of mournfulness tinging the air between us.
I felt his unspoken question.
My brow furrowed. “What?”
He let out a light scoff, a wry smile twisting one side of his mouth. “You see too much, seer.”
“I see just enough, conqueror.”
The smile lingered, then faded. Finally, he said, “I don’t know if this is the right thing.”
The words came slow, like such a blatant admission of uncertainty stuck in his throat.
I’d thought Atrius couldn’t shock me anymore. But this—this shocked me. “Why?”
“These men and women have been with me for decades. I took them away from their homes. They followed me into nightmares. And never, not once, did they question me.” His eyes lowered to the bedroll, his jaw tight. “And where have I led them, to thank them for their loyalty?”
“You led them here.”
“A human kingdom that isn’t their home. Because they can’t go back to their homes, due to my actions.”
My hand fell over his before I could stop myself, clutching tight. “You led them to a second chance.”
“This place doesn’t deserve their bones. This place doesn’t deserve the bones of their children.”
“It doesn’t deserve our bones, either. And gods, how many we’ve given it.” My lip curled into a sneer, my fingers trembling around Atrius’s hand. “You say you don’t belong here. But neither do the Pythora King or his warlords. And they’ve stripped and abused and destroyed this kingdom. The suffering they’ve inflicted on the people here—” I choked on the words, and the images they conjured. “It’s unforgivable. And we let it happen for too long. No more. Someone needs to make him pay for it. And if you won’t, I’ll find a way to.”
The last sentence took me by surprise. I wasn’t planning to say it. But Weaver, I meant it.
Maybe I had broken my vow to the Arachessen. But this—this was a vow I would keep.
I had sworn myself to the Arachessen, and for so many years I had helped them fight against the Pythora King. But I was tired of fighting. I was ready to win.
Atrius was quiet.
Finally he said, “We can’t take Karisine like this.”
My heart fell, shattering against the harsh realities of our situation.
No, we couldn’t. His numbers were smaller than ever. Even before, he’d been relying on his cousin’s help to take Karisine. Now? Conquering it by brute force was out of the question, let alone taking the city-state that lay beyond it. And after that, we’d still have to cross treacherous cliffs to make it to the Pythora King’s isolated palace at the northern shore.
Even if we did have the manpower to make those moves, it would be slow, and it would guarantee many more losses we couldn’t afford.
My fingers tightened, nails biting my palm.
“We don’t have time to chip away at this,” I said. “If he was as easy as Tarkan?—”
Atrius’s seriousness broke for a moment, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “You look murderous.”
I scoffed. I felt murderous. “It’s a shame that all problems can’t be solved by cutting off a head.”
Atrius went very still.
My brows furrowed. “What?”
“Mm.”
That little non-answer, absentminded, his eyes distant, told me it was not nothing. And then, slowly, that smirk returned, this time clinging stubbornly to the corner of his mouth. A now-familiar smug sensation rolled from his presence.
I sat up straighter.
“What an ominous silence,” I said.
“Mm,” Atrius replied, unhelpfully.
“You have an idea.”
I didn’t mean for the hint of admiration—Weaver help me, maybe even excitement—to creep into my voice.
“It’s not an idea yet.”
Yet.
I arched my brows, silently commanding, Tell me .
“Maybe you’ve inspired me,” he said. “You taught me the value of severing the snake.”
“And this snake is the Pythora King’s head?”
“If it was, would it work?”
I paused, considering this.
The warlords were installed by the Pythora King, but they were self-serving and weak on their own. I doubted the handful that remained in power would be able to put up much of a fight if the Pythora King was gone, nor especially inclined to sacrifice themselves for a king too dead to impress.
“Yes,” I said. “But how would we do that?”
The Pythora King wasn’t like Tarkan, residing in a castle in the center of a bustling city. He was incredibly isolated, his palace surrounded by mountains.
Atrius reached into a pile of papers in a box and withdrew a beaten-up roll of parchment, which he unrolled over the ground—a map of Glaea.
“You’re the local guide,” he said. “You tell me. Give me a way to reach the Pythora King without fighting my way through three more warlords.”
He said it so simply. Like it was just a given that such a thing existed. Like it was a given that I had the answer. And his threads were steady—no doubt, no question.
A bittersweet sensation tightened in my chest, as it hit me just how much Atrius genuinely believed in me .
I leaned over the map, running my fingers over the lines of raised ink. Seeing through the threads sometimes made it slow to interpret ink on paper, but I knew the layout of my homeland so well, I barely needed the map anyway. My fingertips traced our location, running north—first by the western path, through Karisine and Ralan. Then they drifted west—to the bumpy, violent slashes of ink that represented the Zadra Cliffs, an expansive maze of rocky mountains that ran all the way up to the northern shore. On the far eastern side of them, hidden well within the treacherous cliffs, the Salt Keep stood.
The Pythora King had chosen to build his castle just beyond the Zadra Cliffs because they were the ultimate protection. No soul could get through them. What paths did run between them were narrow and treacherous, and overrun with slyviks—giant reptilian beasts, the kind of creature children invented in nightmares. Worse, those roads were impossible to navigate, both because of their directionless winding and because heavy mists destroyed all visibility.
Yet, my finger lingered there over those mountains.
I could feel Atrius’s aura growing more smug.
“The paths there could take us to the Pythora King,” he said.
Always statements, never questions.
“Maybe. But they’re impassible.”
But even as the words left my lips, I wasn’t sure that was true. History was full of stories of armies that had attempted to cross the cliffs and failed, damning themselves.
Human armies.
“You don’t believe that,” Atrius said.
I straightened, taking him in. The smirk now permanently curled his mouth, the pleasure echoed in his soul. Despite everything against us now, I had to admit to myself I did enjoy witnessing him this way.
“Vampires are hardier than humans,” I said. “It will be a difficult journey, but your warriors can endure it far better than humans. The hard part will be navigating.”
That was the real killer. Theoretically, one could get through the pass in a few weeks or less, if moving fast. The problem was that no one was ever moving fast, because it was impossible to tell where you were going.
Atrius’s eyes glinted.
“But we have the help of a good seer,” he said, voicing what I didn’t yet say. “Someone who doesn’t rely on visibility at all.”
It was stupid. It was brilliant.
It was the best idea we had.
And Atrius and I were both grinning—grinning at this ridiculous glimmer of hope. Neither of us had to confirm aloud that we would do it. Of course we would. It was insane, and it was our only chance.
Atrius’s hand fell over mine, and the touch sobered me. Suddenly, the harsh realities of what I was about to do struck me, dizzying.
My smile faded.
Atrius took me in for a long moment. I heard the echo of his words— you see too much —because suddenly, I felt that he did, too.
“I have been thinking a lot, these last few months,” he said, “about what ruling this kingdom would look like.”
His hand flipped, palm up, so he was holding mine.
“I never intended to take this country away from its people,” he went on. “I had a pact to fulfill, yes, but I actually wanted to rule it. And rule it well. But no matter what my intentions are, I’m a foreigner. A vampire. I would need someone else beside me. Someone who represents the people I rule far more than I do.”
My lips parted.
For a minute I thought he was implying—but he couldn’t be saying?—
I managed to choke out, “Are you asking me?—”
“I’m not asking anything. I’m telling you that I would like that person to be you, Sylina. And you can do with that information what you will.”
I opened my mouth again. Closed it.
Weaver help me.
“I didn’t know you were so old-fashioned,” I said. “One fuck and suddenly you’re proposing marriage and crowns and?—”
“Not marriage.” He blurted that out fast, then winced. “Not that I— What I meant was?—”
It would have been more amusing to see Atrius flustered if I wasn’t also just as flustered.
He let out a breath. “This arrangement isn’t about me. It’s not about us. It’s a title that you deserve because you are a good leader. You are intelligent. You are compassionate. You know what the people of Glaea want and need. You have lived the lives of many here. And I know that if you were to be tasked with their well-being, you would advocate for the lives of these people until your dying breath. That makes you worthy of power, Vivi.” A wry twist of his lips. “And so damned few are.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, as if he was listing the contents of an inventory, and yet I could feel in his presence how deeply he believed them.
And when he used my old name—my real name—it was like an arrow right between my ribs, guilt flooding me like hot blood.
I wasn’t sure what I had done to make him think so highly of me. And I so desperately wanted to be the woman he thought I was.
I couldn’t speak. Weaver, I could barely even breathe. When I said nothing, he straightened and cleared his throat.
“You don’t have to decide anything now,” he said.
But I had decided.
In this moment, I decided all of it.
Atrius was our answer. Our path to finally overthrowing the Pythora King and making this damned kingdom what it was meant to be. He would be a good ruler. He would accept guidance from his people, human or not. I believed this.
I refused to let another soul wither under the Pythora King’s rule.
And I refused to kill Atrius.
I was no fool. I knew what this meant. When a Sister betrayed the Arachessen, she was carved into pieces and left throughout Glaea—damned to never be whole again, physically or spiritually.
I had only one bloodless path forward, and that was to try one last time to convince the Sightmother that Atrius could be a worthy ally.
And if that failed...
Well. Atrius had been prepared to sacrifice his life to his goddess to save his people .
I would be willing to make the same sacrifice.
Atrius was looking at me strangely, his brow furrowed. His thumb swept over my hand and I realized it was shaking.
“Vivi,” he said softly. That was it. Just my name, and in it, the question he didn’t ask.
For one powerful moment, I wanted to tell him all of it. The truth.
That was a selfish desire.
Because if I told Atrius the truth of why I had been sent here, that made me a traitor. And a wartime leader, when confronted with a traitor, only would have one choice. He would need to execute me. Even if he decided I was too important to sacrifice, he wouldn’t trust me, and he needed to trust me if he and his people were going to make it through the Zadra Pass alive.
Or.
Or, even worse, he would try to save me.
And Atrius could not do that. The Pythora King was his enemy. The Pythora King needed to remain his only focus. Not the Arachessen. He couldn’t save me and kill the Pythora King. Trying to might destroy him.
Somehow this was the possibility, not my execution, that left me breathless with terror. Strange, because it never would happen that way. Atrius was a ruthless king. He’d kill a traitor.
I told myself this, over and over, as he gazed at me with such concern, thumb rubbing the back of my hand.
I gave him a weak smile. “I just... I can’t think about any of that until that bastard is dead. That’s all.”
He nodded, like this made perfect sense to him.
“Of course,” he murmured.
It was now dark. The sun had set. Atrius stretched, then started to stand. “I’ll let you get dressed. Then we have work to do.”
But I caught his arm and pulled him back down. And before I knew what I was doing, my hands were on either side of his face, my mouth against his in a deep kiss.
After a moment of confusion, his stance softened, pulling me closer.
I kissed him for a long, long time.