Chapter 27
Sidney
Shadows stretched and coiled across the floor, their jerky movements mimicking the erratic beat of my pulse.
I willed them to hold their shape, but they dissolved into jagged wisps the moment my focus wavered.
Butters darted after them, paws skidding on the floor as he snapped at the fleeing dark.
Zane’s shadows moved like liquid silk, while mine scattered like startled birds.
“You’re getting better,” Zane said.
I stopped and pressed my palms to my thighs, my heart hammering. “Not nearly fast enough.”
“Remember when the slayers were teaching us swordplay?”
Oh, how could I forget? “I was terrible,” I bemoaned.
I’d had to sneak in whatever training I could. Blood servants weren’t allowed weapons. While the Born and wealthy learned swordplay from tutors, I’d learned fighting from Razira while hiding in storage rooms, mimicking forms with kitchen knives when no one was looking.
“But you got better.” He smiled fondly. “I’d find you in the training yard, beating the straw out of a dummy.”
“I had to get better. In the process of learning swordsmanship, I also learned how to fight a vampire holding one. No practice was wasted.”
He gave me a meaningful look. “No practice is wasted,” he said with an agreeing nod. “But I think you’re distracted right now by something else.”
I sighed. An intrusive thought was circling, persistent as a vulture.
“Mathias knows something.” I paced the rug, boots striking the ground harder than necessary.
“‘I am merely worried for you.’” I mimicked his faux concern.
“He wasn’t chatting. He was hunting for a confession.
” Behind that casual tone was a predator counting heartbeats, tracking breaths, waiting for the moment I slipped.
Zane’s jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing. “When he watched you leave, desire was stamped across his face. I didn’t like it.”
The memory of Mathias’s gaze triggered a heat in my veins, a pulse that made my skin prickle with a craving I loathed. Yet something lingered beneath the suspicion, a hollow need that had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with desire.
“You look tired. I’d love to know what caused it,” he’d said. There’d been a starving look in his eyes, the kind that promised pleasure and ruin in equal measure.
Zane drew me in, and I sank into the warmth radiating from his skin. “The regent is a scavenger, sunshine. He feeds on uncertainty. If he had proof, you’d be in chains already.”
Finn sat cross-legged on the floor, Boris curled in his lap as he brushed the honey badger’s fur. Nibs perched on his shoulder, nibbling a cheese rind. My mate watched us with a brow raised.
“He’s sending Lord Clement to interview all the candidates.” The words came out tight as I rubbed my temples, massaging away the throbbing pain. “Clement’s magic will strip the truth from Razira, and when he turns to me, I’ll have to use my null on him and he’ll know I’m hiding something.”
Zane rested a hand on my waist in a possessive hold. “Using your magic is an admission. Don’t let it come to that. Challenge his right to question you.” His voice sharpened to a blade’s edge. “Claim bias.”
“On what grounds?”
“Clement has a daughter in the trials. He is absolutely biased. Refuse to submit to his magic on the grounds of royal protocol. It will make you untouchable.”
I shook my head and pulled away to have a seat in my usual chair. “It’ll only stall him. Once the delay ends, he will come at me harder.” Zane’s idea offered only a thin shield. “I counter Emmeline’s power with technically true statements. I can do the same with Clement.”
Zane’s brow pulled tight. “If that’s what you want to do. I trust you.”
“I can handle it,” I promised. A ripple of unease passed through the room. I turned to Finn. Any word on the rats? We need to get moving on the trial.
He shook his head. But the rats told me about the dead candidate. The House of Whispers left her at the border as a warning.
My hand stilled mid motion through my hair. I signed and spoke at the same time. “Mathias sidestepped some details, I see.” Icy dread settled low in my stomach, whispering that with this test, I might be next. “Does the House of Whispers know about the second trial?”
Finn shrugged. We need to assume they do.
My fingers drummed against my thigh briefly as I considered. “They want intimidation.”
But? Finn’s single sign cut through my logic.
“But nothing.” I forced my shoulders down from their defensive hunch. “We adjust for heightened security and plan accordingly.”
The mention of trouble carried another detail: Tahlia.
I dragged my focus to this next problem. “Tahlia tried to reach me tonight. She’ll try again when the gates open.” My throat tightened. The thought of facing her, of pretending to be the sister she loved, twisted something in my chest. It felt like guilt, queasy and unwelcome.
Finn stood and signed, Have tea with her. Ease her fears. Introduce her to your hot Devotion. He waggled his eyebrows when I lifted one of mine. Or I can orchestrate a comprehensive rat-based deterrent program.
His hands danced through a complex series of gestures that took twice as long as the words. Phase one: the rats eat holes in all her stockings. Small holes. Annoying holes.
“A bold opening move.”
He nodded with full confidence. Phase two: the rats hide her left shoes. Only the left ones.
A chuckle escaped my lips. “That’s oddly specific.”
People can hop on one foot, but they look ridiculous. She will be too embarrassed to chase you.
“She could wear mismatched shoes.”
Finn continued without hesitation. Phase three: hairbrush gone. Her hair will be a mess.
“You’ve really thought this through.”
Finn straightened, hands moving with the gravity of a seasoned commander. Phase four: aggressive squeaking during her naptime.
I stared at him. “That is your escalation?”
He lifted his chin. Phase five: a full musical number.
“A musical number,” I deadpanned.
The rats have been practicing. His face remained perfectly serious. They are not very good, but they are enthusiastic.
A laugh broke free, sharp and helpless. “This is the most elaborate avoidance scheme I have ever heard.”
A spark lit in his eyes, the kind he never bothered to hide when he knew he had gotten exactly the reaction he wanted. Thank you. He signed it and bowed as if I had offered him a medal; the wink that followed was pure smugness.
Tension slipped from my shoulders with an exhale. “Tea and hot Devotion it is.”
A rustling shattered the moment as a dozen rats squeezed through the narrow window gap.
Their squeaks filled the room with frantic urgency.
Finn crouched to greet them, calm as they climbed his legs and tugged at his sleeves.
Their thoughts hit me all at once, a storm of words and images that tangled into useless noise.
I followed Finn to the table as he pulled parchment toward him. He wetted the tip of his quill before setting it to the page. Lines flowed across the paper as he shaped the rodents’ chaos into something coherent.
He sighed, shook his head, and shot a scolding look at one rat.
After a breath, he dipped the quill and leaned in again, translating their reports into something useful.
A courtyard emerged, then a building, then a hall, and finally, a narrow stair.
Zane rested his arms around me and looked at it all over my shoulder.
The House of Whispers is more fortified than the Sanguine mansion. Multiple guards at every entrance. Patrols through the halls every hour. He paused, consulting the rats again.
“I don’t understand them. They’re all talking simultaneously.” Frustration bled into my voice.
Focus on them and ignore everything else. Finn signed.
As I tuned out the room, a cacophony of tiny, frantic voices erupted behind my ears. The roar of static transformed, vibrating against my skull and causing my teeth to ache.
“Talk to them,” Finn said, then signed, Tell them to talk to you one at a time until you get a hold of it. Eventually, you can decipher between their voices and filter them out on your own.
I pushed my thoughts into the swarm, but the noise didn’t stop. “I don’t think it’s working.”
Try again, but focus on one rat.
I did as he suggested, lifting my hand as if a gesture would bridge the gap, but my chosen rodent offered no acknowledgment and began grooming his backside.
A fresh variable came to my mind, one that would prove valuable on the trial. “Can we talk mentally with each other?” The scientific impulse pushed my frustration aside.
Finn twisted his lips. We should try. His gaze met mine as our concentration built.
I shoved a thought toward Finn, picturing a single white candle. Silence met me. I tried again, straining until a dull ache throbbed behind my eyes. I threw the mental image of a screaming bird into his mind. Nothing came back. He shook his head, confirming the failure.
I was picturing a dancing carrot. Did you see it?
No, I signed.
Finn’s brow furrowed. I guess we cannot talk mentally and you can only listen to animals. Go ahead and practice it.
The next several minutes brought a few words at a time from the rats or a flood of nonsense. In the meantime, Finn translated every scrap into new lines on the map.
“What else do they know?” My disappointment made the question come out sharper than intended.
There’s a wing where vampires live in spacious rooms. He pointed to a section on the parchment.
The rats argued. “Three guards. No, four. Window small. Window safe. Window dangerous. Queen upstairs. Shiny things. Old blood. Cheese.” The flood of images hit all at once: soldiers paced, a narrow window flickered, a stair twisted upward, something sparkled, a house cat, and one enthusiastic rat hoisted cheese like a trophy.
The roar subsided into a manageable hum as I adjusted my cerebral door. Understanding came in increments. “Cheese. Cheese.” I tuned out the one voice and shifted focus to another.