Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
For two weeks, Septimus and I traveled. Our destination, he told me as we rode, was Estrys, a notoriously inaccessible fortress state at the very edge of the House of Blood’s territory.
In recent centuries, the Bloodborn had begun building cities in the uninhabited territory northeast of the mainland.
Estrys was on a little spur of land surrounded by mountains.
To reach it, we had to travel through the northern sparsely populated territory of Bosqua, a human kingdom.
“I have many friends in Estrys,” Septimus had explained. “The House of Blood is . . . it can be a difficult place to live. Estrys became refuge for Bloodborn who would rather leave the mainland. And because it is so isolated, like the Salt Keep, it’s a good place to hide items of value.”
“Items such as—?”
“Such as weapons that we’ll need to best Kajmar.”
Like the harp in Sylina’s threadwalk.
“Speaking of which,” I said, “how are we supposed to use a harp to kill a god?”
“That will be your problem, Vindica Ultis. I provide the divine weaponry. You figure out how to wield it.” Then he added, drily, “Though so far that hasn’t worked well for you.”
“What exactly did you do to accumulate such a stash?” I asked.
{Nothing good,} Zefiah grumbled.
Septimus gave me a smug smirk that said, Nothing good.
I believed it.
That was about all the information he was willing to provide, which was frustrating.
There were no aethergates to take us to Estrys, and besides, Septimus explained that magical travel would be too risky to potentially attract unwanted divine attention.
We didn’t want gods coming after us until we were ready for them.
So, we had left the aethergate outpost the next day and taken a boat to the far north coast. There, Septimus had secured two very cranky horses for us from an equally cranky handler, and we journeyed inland.
I was grateful for the horse. When I’d laid eyes on the skinny, undersized mare and let out an impressed whistle befitting a golden chariot, Septimus had chuckled softly.
The House of Blood bordered human territory by land, albeit only via narrow strips of difficult, mountainous terrain.
In the last ten years, the gods had grown far more aggressive about holding physical territory.
Even the gods of the White Pantheon were now distrustful of each other.
Once, most human kingdoms—though not all—had been largely mixed in their loyalties to White Pantheon gods.
Now, the gods all wanted their own kingdoms, their own armies, their own territory to use as a shield or a weapon as they pleased.
This area, in the mountainous northern regions close to the House of Blood, was Kajmar’s.
We avoided the most populated areas, but I’d heard plenty of salacious stories about what Kajmar’s kingdoms, monuments entirely constructed to be his pleasure gardens, had become.
I remembered a time when the gods ill-suited to warfare—Kajmar, Ix, Vitarus—were content to just serve their purposes in the mortal lands.
Make some flowers grow. Inspire some musicians. Birth some babies.
Apparently, that wasn’t enough anymore.
This area was also, conveniently, said to be a region where the boundary between the realm of gods and the realm of mortals was thinnest—though that veil had deteriorated over the years, with gods now paying so much attention to the affairs of mortals.
It all sounded very mysterious, but the reality was mundane.
Septimus secured little houses—perhaps owned by the House of Blood, somehow—for us to stay at most nights, though eventually, we would be so far into the mountains that we’d have to camp.
I had to begrudgingly admit that Septimus was actually decent company.
He was, at least, an entertaining conversationalist. I couldn’t help but be fascinated by him.
Even when we were out here, in the middle of nowhere, trudging around on horseback, he remained ceaselessly and flawlessly elegant.
So pretty it was almost fucking offensive.
He must have carried a supply of blood with him, though he never drank it while I was watching.
He had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of three things: cigarillos, white clothing, and books.
There were always some of all three waiting at every house we stopped at, and he’d swap them out so that he had a constantly rotating supply.
One night, when we holed up in a little cottage, I rolled over in my cot to watch him bent over a book, my eyes narrowed.
He said, without looking up, “What have I done to earn that look, Kyrene?”
“What is it that you’re always reading?”
“What do you think I’m reading?”
I examined him. The cottage was tiny, just one room plus a washroom with no running water, and completely bare.
Still, he sat against the wall, long limbs gracefully lounging with all the intentional finesse of a cat, silver glasses perched on his nose and book in his hands.
This one had a deep red cover with foiled Obitraen text and nothing else.
I could understand and speak Obitraen well enough, but could barely read it.
I said, at last, “Romance novels.”
His brows rose. His gaze flicked to me. He was taken aback, and I relished that. I didn’t know why it amused me so much to surprise Septimus, even in these tiny ways. He was always so still, so smooth, like the surface of a pond. Just made me want to be the rock to crash through it.
“Romance novels,” he repeated.
“Vampires are so carnal. I figure nothing can hold your attention for that long unless there’s blood or sex in it.”
“Kyrene,” he said, peering at me over the rim of his glasses, “we have known each other for only a few weeks, and I already know that’s a terribly hypocritical accusation.”
“But is it wrong?”
His eyes crinkled, just barely. He looked back to his book, flipping a page.
“If you must know,” he said, “it’s called Care and Feeding of Your Ill-Tempered Human Bounty Hunter. And, it turns out, there is plenty of blood in it.”
I kept my face still, clamping down on the almost-laugh that bubbled up in my chest. I said, utterly seriously, “But is there sex?”
“I suppose we’ll see,” he replied, without missing a beat, and turned another page.
I lost the battle. The chuckle slipped free. And I tried not to notice the way his mouth curled in satisfaction at the sound.
I pulled my jacket tight around myself and shivered. It was fucking freezing. I’d never come so far north before, and with every icy mile we traveled, I felt more and more validated in that decision.
We rode along a narrow, rocky path. The ground around us had gotten steep, and the horizon ahead was blotted out by sheer, icy cliffs. With another gust of frigid wind, I was spitting curses.
“You’re edgy today,” Septimus remarked.
{You are,} Zefiah agreed.
I scowled. “It’s because it’s freezing.”
{It is because you have gone longer without a drink than you have in ten years.}
It is not.
“Humans,” Septimus said. “So soft.”
{Indeed,} Zefiah muttered.
Gods help me. What is this, the two of you coming at me at once? This is the one thing you can agree with him on?
“If you’d like to go kill Kajmar yourself, then by all means. I can go home.”
Go home. It was only as the words left my lips that I realized I had no home. No people to return to.
I pushed that thought away.
“Speaking of which,” I said. “How exactly are we going to do that? Kill Kajmar?”
“Judging by what I’ve seen so far, I assume you’ll stumble into his territory, wave your arms around until he looks your way, and stick him with the pointy end of whatever’s on hand. Seems to be your style.”
{It does,} Zefiah said, unhelpfully.
What did I ever do to either of you?
“Actually,” I said, “I think it would be wise to do something with a little more finesse.”
Septimus shot me a look, and my eyes narrowed at the abject disbelief on his face.
“What?”
“Nothing. You and finesse are just not two terms I typically associate with each other.”
“You hired me because I’m very good at what I do, Seppy.”
He looked physically pained. “I’m a prince. Please, never call me that.”
I filed away this delightful reaction for the next time I wanted to see that expression.
“Here’s what I think we should do,” I said. “I think that we should get close to Kajmar before he’s aware of our intent to murder him. The problem with Srana was that she was aggressive as soon as she appeared.”
“Are you admitting a mistake in your strategy?”
“I’m admitting . . . room for improvement.”
“How open-minded of you. Perhaps someone involved in that fight might have been attempting a different strategy, now that I think of it. Maybe that person was . . . what’s the word . . .”
Again, a knowing glance, eyes sparkling. They looked more brightly silver than usual today, the amber deep like burnished gold around his pupils.
“Correct?” he finished.
“Don’t push it,” I snapped. “If we were to do something differently this time, I think that we should get into Kajmar’s home. Get him in a position where he’s completely unguarded. Ideally in private.”
“Sounds promising. And how would you do that?”
“Do you really have to ask? Kajmar is the biggest whore in the White Pantheon.”
Septimus choked back a laugh. “That’s flattering, Kyrene, but I don’t think even Kajmar would be seduced by a vampire—”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Not you,” I said. “Me. I’m talking about me.”
The look on his face had me scowling before he opened his mouth.
“He is quite literally the god of beauty,” he said.
{He has a fair point,} Zefiah said, ever the traitor.
“What does that have to do with anything?” I demanded.
“Nothing. I merely admire your confidence.”
“You haven’t been seeing me at my best. I never have a problem warming my bed, thank you.”
“But humans will fuck anything.”
“Humans will fuck anything? Vampires will stick their dicks in corpses.”
“Firstly, that’s an offensive stereotype. Secondly, I am highly discerning about what I put my dick in.”