Chapter 30 #2
Fury, frigid as the mountain wind, crossed over that perfect face like shattering ice.
“I serve her,” he breathed, “because I will be the last Bloodborn to suffer this curse. I think of that, every time I bow to her, every time I jump to her call. My brothers failed. I will not. And I will make any sacrifice to that end. Even, divine hero, terrible ones that were never mine to make.”
He stepped closer, his eyes fiery, lips drawn back into a sneer.
“Does it make you feel better to know why your friends died? They died because my parents heard a nice tale from a seer and they were fucking stupid enough to believe it. Your friends died because my brother, kind and noble and just, ended up with his head in a box, and all my other brothers failed, and my kingdom ended up with me. Your friends died because I made sure the sun fell, and I made sure the gods went to war, and I made a thousand little decisions that pushed everything to this moment. You were right, the night you accused me of being the reason they were dead. You were right.”
He was now inches away from me, so close I could feel his breath over my face. My muscles were tense. Zefiah burned in my hand, pushing all my awareness to the space between me and Septimus. Easy enough to close with a blade.
Zefiah was made for retribution. And here Septimus was, right in front of me, daring me to take it.
“And I would do all of it again,” he snarled. “I don’t regret it. Do you hate me for that?”
I watched the strands of red around his irises reach for the center. The blood in my veins tugged toward him with every pulse.
I said, honestly, “Yes.”
It was the truth. In this moment, I looked at that beautiful face masking a hideous pain, and I hated him more than I had ever hated Shiket.
I hated him for the reasons he threw at me—because he had, however indirectly, killed Valentina, Mirie, Marko, and thousands, millions, of others.
Because he had pushed all the pieces on the board into place for Vostis, and the darkness, and war.
But here, in this pained, messy version of Septimus, I saw myself. I saw more of myself than I had ever seen in another person.
And I hated that most of all.
His gaze snapped to Zefiah at my side. My grip on her hilt. “You haven’t put that away.” He was challenging me, like he always had, teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Do I look that unhinged? Do I look hungry to you?”
He lurched toward me, and I lifted Zefiah, just slightly.
{His blood will taste like justice,} she hummed. {His blood will taste like retribution. His blood will taste like peace.}
But I knew this was a lie, too. Because I still had bigger game to slay.
“I’m hungry, too, Septimus,” I said. “We share a propensity for making the right beings bleed. So let’s make them fucking bleed.”
Pleasure flashed in his eyes. Then something else—something darker, there and gone again before I could name it. His lips twisted, but the expression was closer to a snarl than a smile.
“I always wonder, did Shiket know what you were when she chose you?” He reached out, and for some reason, I didn’t pull away. I let him trace the angle of my chin. “I knew, when I did.”
{That is a dangerous thought,} Zefiah mused. {Perhaps he even believes it is true.}
He did believe it. I could see that in his eyes, reflected right there in all his hunger.
I said, “Monsters recognize monsters.”
But his brow furrowed. Like he was seeing something in me right now that he hadn’t expected. His thumb traced the curve of my lower lip thoughtfully.
“A lion indeed,” he murmured.
And then he pulled away. All those messy emotions receded all at once, leaving behind Septimus, prince of the House of Blood, pristine and elegant in marble.
“Be ready, bounty hunter,” he said, turning away. “I want it to hurt when Kajmar dies.”
Septimus barely spoke again. We retrieved another abandoned horse from the stables, then set the rest free to gallop into the mountains. A few still lingered in the pastures, confused, nudging their grain buckets. They didn’t know what to do with freedom.
As we tacked up our second horse, I turned to look one final time at the fortress. From the outside, save for the broken windows, one would never know the carnage within.
“Do you want to burn it?” I said.
Septimus didn’t hesitate. “No,” he said, and hoisted himself onto his horse.
Zefiah recoiled at that. {He would leave his own kin without a burial. What kind of prince is he?}
Only now did I wonder what had happened to Valentina’s body. If perhaps she was still there, legs broken, throat bloodied, having her eyes picked out by the carrion birds.
We began to ride away. We were halfway down the path when he said, without looking back, “I want whoever finds them next to know exactly what happened.”
We rode in silence for hours through the deserted mountain roads. They grew narrower and rockier as we went. Neither of us spoke of our plan. We were several days from reaching the heart of Kajmar’s territory. The versions of ourselves who had been joking about seduction now seemed like strangers.
Eventually, we came to a deserted house. By the looks of it, it had been unused for quite some time. We dismounted, and upon examining it, Septimus said simply, “A good a time to rest as any.”
He seemed as reluctant as I was. Neither of us was eager to visit those we’d see in our dreams. But the horses were exhausted, and now we had been traveling for nearly a full day and night with no rest, attempting to outrun the gods and our ghosts.
The washroom worked, barely. A dirty trickle of water came from the faucet. Not quite enough to fully scrub the blood from my hands.
Afterward, I went to the tiny bedchamber and chewed on my stale bread. Zefiah lay across the bed beside me. I looked down at my hands to see that they were still trembling.
I found myself listening for footsteps beyond the door. I wasn’t sure exactly when I’d come to recognize the way Septimus walked—delicately, almost silently. Not until now, when I realized I could sense his movements like the subtle directions of the wind.
My eyes slipped to Zefiah. Her glow was dim, pooling faintly in the ancient carvings up her length.
You’re terribly quiet, I said.
By which I really meant, Please distract me.
Zefiah said thoughtfully, {You could have killed him today.}
The words came with a rumble of hunger.
I let out a scoff. Maybe I could have pierced his heart, sure. Like I could have done a dozen other times since I met him. But you know why I couldn’t.
{Why is that, Kyrene?}
My brow furrowed. I shot her a confused look.
As satisfying as that would have been, there’s blood that tastes better than that of one vampire, Zef. We’re after Nyaxia’s. You know that.
{So you are telling me that you did not kill Septimus today solely because you need him to get to Nyaxia.}
Yes. Obviously. I ripped off another chunk of bread. You know this. Why are we going over this again?
{Humans are such peculiar creatures. So many conflicting truths and lies at once. But it is not as easy to lie to me as it is to lie to yourself.}
My hand paused halfway to my mouth. For fuck’s sake, Zef. It has been a terrible day. I’m too tired for this.
{You tell me you hate Septimus for what he has done. This is true. You tell me that you did not kill him because you still need him. This is true. You tell me you wish to kill Nyaxia. This is true. But you also tell me you wanted to kill Septimus today. And this, I see, is not true.}
It was true and wasn’t true at the same time. I didn’t want to look at it too hard.
I said, The man was already having a shit day. Seemed a bit cruel to pile on.
{Because you have always balked at cruelty.}
Her sarcasm cut too close to the quick. I stood. Enough with the lectures.
{It is not a lecture. Merely a warning.}
You’ve been giving me a lot of those, lately.
{Humans, as I said, are peculiar creatures. It is so easy for them to believe their own invented truths.}
Enough!
I sheathed her roughly and laid her in the closet. Then I went back to the bed. Sat.
The silence was deafening.
I closed my eyes and saw all the blood. All the decimated bodies. Soldiers, civilians, children. Vampire children, yes. But a mind never gets used to seeing little bodies broken that way. Under all the blood, it was hard to tell the difference.
I stood and went to the window. The silhouette of Estrys was still visible in the distance, cradled between mountain peaks.
And there, perched at the edge of a rock, was Septimus.
His back was straight. A cigarillo was tucked between his fingers.
The bloodstains still adorned his white shirt, even though he’d by now had the opportunity to change.
I slid my hand into my pocket. Pressed my thumb to the warm metal of the pendant, and felt another unwelcome pang of kinship. Funny how we all hold on to things that hurt us. Markers of those who saw us as a savior.
It was something that no one had ever understood about me. A wall between myself and the rest of the world. Not even Zefiah, the only one who knew my truest self, could scale it.
And yet. Here, a crack.
I turned and scanned the room. A few books still sat on a dusty shelf, the spines cracked and pages yellowed. I flipped through them. One was written in Oketian.
I tucked one under my arm and went outside.