CHAPTER FOUR #2
TRAVELING BY LEY line is usually reserved for vampires and wealthy sigilmarked who are at least half-crowned bronze—although they occasionally bring their mundane servants along with them. I’ve never even stepped foot in the nearest ley station, which is three districts north of the Thorn.
Bran is all business, scanning a piece of parchment as we approach the station after sunset.
Next to me, Leon is a grim, silent presence, a huge canvas satchel slung over each of his shoulders.
He arrived at my house at the last possible second, his expression resigned, his eyes smoldering with fury.
He hasn’t said a word. But he’s here.
Gerith and Evren stare, wide-eyed as we enter the ley station.
The building rises from the ground like a monument.
Stone pillars have been carefully etched with sigils that glow gold as we walk by them.
The marble beneath our feet is polished to a gleam, the entrance giving way to a huge hall.
In the middle of the hall, a statue of Ghaleros dominates the space.
The god of travel and trade towers over us at ten feet tall, his lips curved in a gentle smile.
One hand extends forward, holding a coin, while the other clutches a staff topped with a stylized compass.
His robes are adorned with his symbols—coins, ships’ sails, carriage wheels.
But the most prevalent, carved into his chest, is the symbol for the ley lines—a circle with six curved lines spiraling from the center.
“Come along,” Bran says, and we pass a sigilmarked who pauses to bow his head to the statue before adding several coins to the pile at Ghaleros’s feet.
Bran sneers at the statue. Vampires worship only Umbros, and they enjoy showing contempt for the sigilmarkeds’ gods.
To my right, a group of women walk past the statue. Since they’re sigilmarked—and around my age—they must have fought in the Sands. But from their relaxed body language and easy conversation, it’s almost as if the experience didn’t leave a mark on them. They seem … normal. Happy.
Loneliness cuts through me, sharper than the sword strapped across my back. But there are worse things than loneliness. Like having people in your life, trusting that they’ll always be there, and then losing them.
Evren slips his hand into mine—something he hasn’t done for years. Gerith is tense, his own hand in his pocket, where I’m relatively sure he’s hiding another of my stolen daggers.
I could take my brothers’ hands. We could sprint toward the ley line to Nesonias. All I would need is to distract the ley warden long enough for them to escape.
The place on my neck where Bran bit me begins to throb warningly. Slowly, the vampire turns his head, meeting my gaze. His smile is filled with silent threat.
“How do they work, Velle?” Gerith asks.
“The ley lines?” Dragging my gaze away from Bran, I bite my lip. Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure.
“Ley lines are places where aether has settled,” Leon says gruffly from where he’s fallen a few steps behind us, and both boys turn their attention to him.
They’re the first words he’s spoken, and he keeps his attention on both the sigilmarked and vampires going about their business, as if he’s expecting to be attacked at any moment.
“They form gradually, the way water flowing from a mountain steadily eats into rock and soil, becoming a river. Most of the strongest lines have been harnessed for travel.”
I stare at him. For six years, the few times he has spoken in my presence, his voice has been dripping with either fury or disgust. It’s … disconcerting to hear him speak in a neutral tone.
Evren instantly frowns, opening his mouth.
But a tall, dark-haired woman is prowling toward us with the predatory grace of a vampire, her long black gown parting at her feet, the high slits displaying teasing glimpses of pale thighs.
She could be anywhere from twenty to two hundred, but the bitterness carved into her face tells me she’s much older than she looks.
“Arvelle, this is Elva. She will be taking your brothers to the healers.”
I attempt a smile, but I’m sure it looks more like a grimace. She merely raises one eyebrow.
How can I possibly trust this woman with my brothers?
Gerith gives her a cool look, and she smiles at him, flashing fang. His sigil flares, and I sigh.
“Gerith.”
His powers haven’t woken yet, but he’s still going to have to learn to control his emotions. Vampires consider glowing sigils to be a threat. As they should.
Elva merely studies Gerith and Evren’s sigils. And then her gaze lands on me. “Three gold sigils in a family from the Thorn. An unusual case.”
I shrug. Our mother was gold marked, which means the twins would have had a 46 percent chance at a gold sigil if I hadn’t been born with mine.
No one knows the true rate of sigilmarked inheritance among siblings, but the more children sigilmarked parents have, the less likely the next child will carry the same mark.
And the chances of having a voidborn—a sigil-less mundane born to sigilmarked parents—increases.
It’s ironic considering our mother wasn’t attempting to procreate for power. She truly loved the twins’ father—a gold sigilmarked noble who never once visited after she became pregnant. And while she never spoke of mine, her expression had turned tight with longing each time I’d asked about him.
Elva seems to be waiting for an answer. When I don’t respond, she sneers. “And yet your own sigil hasn’t grown at all.”
“I need your word that you will look after my brothers.”
Her eyes narrow. “I give you my word that I will keep them alive.”
I give her a hard stare. “Alive, unharmed, and as happy as they can possibly be without me by their sides.”
She rolls her eyes, and the gesture is strangely human. But she repeats my words, and something unlocks in my chest.
I pull Evren and Gerith a few feet away. “Look after each other,” I order, my throat tight.
They nod, and I open my arms once more. Both of them nestle close and I squeeze them tight, blinking away the sting of tears from my eyes.
I won’t let them see me cry.
“We have to go,” I murmur. Evren’s lip trembles as he pulls away, and Gerith rubs at his eyes.
Only the most powerful vampires and gold-crowned can survive the journey by ley line across large amounts of water. Elva, Gerith, and Evren will only be able to take ley lines to the northern tip of this continent. They’ll take a ship for the remainder of the journey.
Will Ev and Ger get seasick?
I wish I could see the wonder in their faces when they see how big this world is.
I wish I could see it with them.
Suddenly my arms are empty, and Elva is walking away with my brothers. They both look over their shoulders at me, and I force an encouraging smile onto my face. All these years, and nothing has separated us until now.
The pain is agonizing. But keeping them alive means letting them go. At least temporarily.
One day, I will make Bran pay for every moment of fear and anguish he has caused my brothers.
My eyes burn, and I grimly fix my gaze to the stone floor, following Bran down the corridor leading to the ley line traveling in our direction.
I’m so focused on keeping my emotions in check, I almost miss the commotion.
A mundane woman breaks away from the sigilmarked she was trailing and drops to her knees in front of Bran, her eyes wild, face twisted.
“Please,” she begs.
Leon lets out a low hiss, but the corner of Bran’s mouth curves up.
Understanding trickles through me.
A blood addict. Lost to the craving. To the agony.
A wide circle has opened up around us, those passing by intent on ignoring the scene of a woman begging for relief from her pain. Several people wrinkle their noses, while most carefully ignore her.
Bran glances over his shoulder at me. “Some people understand the gift of vampire blood.” Without another word, he strides past the woman, ignoring her strangled sob.
Her hollow, despair-filled eyes lock with mine, and a lump rises in my throat. Leon clamps a hand around my elbow and yanks me back into step, releasing me the moment I fall in line behind Bran.
Unsurprisingly, Bran leads Leon and me past the line of people already waiting for the ley line we need. He flashes a document at the ley warden, and the bronze sigilmarked immediately nods, stepping aside.
With a jerk of his head, Bran gestures for us to step into the tiny cabin.
It’s a little bigger than a carriage, but the pale wood has been heavily adorned with silver.
If that silver weakens Bran in any way, it’s impossible to tell by his placid expression. When the door of the cabin clicks shut, he nods once to the ley warden. And we’re suddenly moving.
Leon turns green, closes his eyes, and fists his hands. My own stomach churns as the world turns blurry outside the small windows.
Within moments, the world solidifies once more, and my stomach hollows out.
Outside the window, the arena rises from the heart of the city, the black stone glimmering with gold in places.
Towering spires pierce the sky, adorned with banners that flutter in the wind, covered in the emperor’s personal sigil—the two interconnecting triangles stark black against the purple banners.
Six years ago, Kassia squeezed my hand as we both stared at this arena, torn between excitement and dread.
Something cracks deep within my chest as grief and bitterness chew through the numbness I’ve embraced like a lover. A thousand memories of Kassia slam into me all at once, until all I can do is breathe through it, the sound of her last, choked gasp echoing through my ears.