Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Only now did it occur to Egrette to look at me.
Vampire eyes were reflective in the darkness, like those of cats. Her pupils were two round silver discs as she took me in, impassively curious. She was interested. You could feel it, smell it, when a vampire was interested in you. Practically could see the saliva filling her mouth.
But there was no recognition in her stare.
Of course she did not remember me. Even here, she looked at me as the Vindica Ultis, valuable as a prized sword or the spear she now held. Not a person.
Unbidden, a voice whispered in the back of my mind:
This was probably how she had looked at Valentina.
It didn’t matter that it was an invention—the queen herself had likely never seen Val at all. Yet, the image seemed so vivid, so real, in my mind. The truth of it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was the rage.
Egrette stepped closer. Shadowborn stealth really was something. Her footfalls didn’t make a sound.
“The Vindica Ultis,” she said.
The tone of her voice was one part impressed, one part disbelieving—as if to say, You’re trying to tell me this is the Vindica Ultis?
Septimus made a show of looking me over.
“She’s had better nights,” he admitted.
Oh, fuck him.
“Where’s the sword?” one of the guards said. “She’s nothing without the sword.”
I gritted my teeth against that one, too, even though—or perhaps because—it was certainly true.
“I took it from her,” Septimus said. “When I found her. Of course, you wouldn’t want the Vindica Ultis running around your kingdom with her blade in hand, would you? Our travel here was a little . . . chaotic, so it got—”
“Here!” a voice called from the forest, quickly followed by a flash of light and an Obitraen curse. I felt Zefiah’s burst of defiance.
“Don’t try to pick it up, you fool,” another voice muttered. “Cover it.”
The rustling continued in the forest. But as much as Zefiah’s presence called to me, biting with her ire at being handled by fallen hands, I didn’t tear my gaze from Egrette’s.
She approached, examining me. Her nostrils flared slightly as she eyed the bloody mess that was my shoulder. But I sensed little hunger from her. It occurred to me that this was probably because Egrette was very well fed.
“I have been searching for you for quite some time,” she said. “I’ll admit, reality pales to your reputation. They say you killed a god.”
She said this in a tone that didn’t bother hiding what she thought of this. I bit down on my tongue. A much more manageable pain.
She straightened and turned to Septimus. “Are you sure you have the right one?”
Septimus’s smirk twitched. “Oh, I am sure.”
“You expect me to believe this thing killed the Goddess of Justice.”
Thing. Gods, I hated this woman.
“Like I said,” he drawled, “it’s not her best night.”
“And you are simply so generous an ally you just couldn’t wait to share your good fortune with me. Considering our wonderful friendship.”
Her voice was drenched with sarcasm, and his reply was acidic:
“Only the best for my very dear friend on the eve of her birthnight.”
They gave each other smiles that were essentially the baring of teeth.
Who needed mind magic? Even I could see that these two fucking despised each other.
“Besides,” Septimus said, “the Dark Mother wants her. And what the Dark Mother wants, the Dark Mother shall have. After all, I didn’t want you to make any unflattering assumptions if I were to bring her the Vindica Ultis without you.”
Egrette’s cold smile flickered. This idea—that he had involved her only because he wanted to avoid more tensions between their kingdoms—seemed to sway her. A little.
“How generous of you,” she said drily, in a way that was not hiding that she didn’t believe a word he said. “Fine. If she’s to be presented to the Dark Mother, then we will do so.”
I watched Septimus. Watched him stiffen, then relax once more, smiling easily. Again, his hand slipped inside his jacket only to stop himself partway through the movement.
“Lead the way,” he said, palm out.
Lead the way where?
Zefiah’s presence tugged at me. It made the pain briefly tolerable.
My head swiveled around to see one of the Shadowborn soldiers emerging from the brush, carrying a pile of velvet fabric—someone’s cloak, maybe.
Even without the faint gold glow emanating from within the wad of fabric, I would have known instantly that it was Zefiah.
My entire body let out a breath of relief at her presence.
In response, the light flared. The vampire holding her let out a hiss of pain and dropped the bundle. Puffs of smoke rose from his open palms, and I smelled burning flesh.
I couldn’t suppress my smile.
Good to see you too, Zef.
Septimus was only doing marginally more to hide his amusement.
“I’m surprised that with all of your innovations, the Shadowborn haven’t yet figured out a safe way to hold god-touched weapons.”
“God-touched is one thing. God-forged is another.” Egrette shot the offending soldier a withering glare. “Pick it up.”
“Perhaps you should let the Vindica Ultis hold it and spare a swordsman his hands,” Septimus said, too casually.
She gave him a flat stare. “I’m no fool, Septimus.”
“Look at her. Her sword arm is mangled. And you can restrain the left one, if you wish.” He nodded to the guard, who was still cradling the burns on his palms. “Or, if you insist on having your own men hold it, then make sure you pick the worst swordsman, because they’ll be losing their hands after this. ”
Surely, they wouldn’t be so stupid as to let me hold Zefiah, but I couldn’t help but hope. My left arm was weaker than my right, and she was a large blade, far too heavy to wield one-handed either way. Still, wielding her at all would be a gift.
But Egrette didn’t so much as consider it.
“You must think more highly of me than that, Septimus, after a decade working together.” She turned to her guard. “Pick it up.” Then, after a pause: “Actually, Renata, you do it.”
Renata looked down at her hands—her expendable hands—before picking up Zefiah.
“Put her to sleep,” Egrette said to another one of her guards, before Septimus cut in.
“That would be unwise,” Septimus said. “She is enhanced by the power of her title. Your magic might not even work, and if you adjust its strength accordingly, it might just kill her. How disappointing that would be for the Dark Mother.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I have seen how the Bloodborn treat their prisoners. And yet you seem terribly concerned about the well-being of this one.”
“She is no ordinary prisoner.”
Again, that slip of his hand. Egrette’s piercing stare grew sharper. She knew something was off.
“No prisoner gets to see more than they must of the House of Shadow,” she said. “Not even one who will be dead soon. Put her to sleep.”
Two guards encroached upon me. Instinctively, I railed against their touch, but one grabbed my dangling arm, sending a spasm of crippling pain shooting through me. The other touched their fingers to my temple.
They pulled through my mind as if all my mental defenses were wet parchment. All my memories surged beneath their touch, like the oily surface of a stew breaking with the violent churn of a spoon.
Shiket’s final dying rage—
Septimus’s smirk—
The churning sea at the Salt Keep—
And Val. Valentina’s lifeless face. Her broken legs—
Pain. Indescribable pain.
And with it, a beckoning hand. A gentle song. Come with me, little human. You are so tired. You have come so far. Here is a beautiful place to rest.
{Resist it,} Zefiah commanded, flaring in poor Renata’s burning grip. {Resist their tainted magics.}
But I was no god. I wasn’t even a vampire. My poor human mind stood little chance. The soft darkness pulled me in, and then there was nothing.