CHAPTER NINE
It’s weeks before I see Ti again. I keep returning to my tree, which has somehow become our tree. And my chest aches each time I stare up at its empty branches.
Kassia knows about the noble boy but refuses to meet him.
“He sounds mean,” she says.
He is mean sometimes. But so am I.
And beneath the mean, I think he’s sad.
So am I.
I’ve decided this will be my last visit to the oak I love so much. I don’t know if Ti is punishing me, or if he hates me now.
He shouldn’t have tried to stop me leaving.
I shouldn’t have hit him.
He shouldn’t have been rude in the first place.
I’m a confusing mass of emotion.
When I find him sitting up in one of the highest branches of the tree—where even I’m too scared to climb—something settles deep in my chest.
He ignores me as I climb up, settling several branches below him. We sit in silence for a long time.
Finally, when I glance up at him, I find him watching me.
“I’m sorry for hitting you,” I say.
His jaw tightens, but he nods. “I’m sorry for grabbing you.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” I explain carefully. “I may not be a noble, but I’m a person too.”
His gaze lingers on my sigil. We never talk about the blank space on his own forehead. I don’t understand how he could be a noble and not have a sigil.
Finally, he sighs. “I’m sorry too. I don’t want you to leave. You’re the only person I can talk to.”
I frown at that. Ti doesn’t really talk all that much.
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he says. “I couldn’t come back. My father took an interest in my training for a few weeks. My brother warned me to be on my best behavior.”
I want to ask more. I’ve always been hopelessly curious about what it’s like to grow up with a father. Or an older brother who would have looked out for me.
But Ti has gotten that closed expression on his face. The one that says he doesn’t want to talk about that subject further. So I leave it alone.
“What would you do if you could do anything?” he asks me suddenly.
“I’d be a healer.”
Surprise flashes through his eyes and I frown at him. “You don’t think I could be a healer?”
“No, I do. It’s just … most people I know aren’t interested in helping people. They’re only interested in themselves.”
It’s mostly the same in the Thorn. But sometimes, there are good people too.
Like our neighbor, who took pity on my mother and left us a round of bread in the middle of winter a few years ago when my brothers were first born.
Or the butcher, who sometimes gives her a little extra meat when he sees me standing next to her, as skinny and unkempt as I am.
I’d thought Ti’s life was easier than mine. It’s clear he’s used to getting what he wants. But he’s not cruel. He just needs to be taught.
I’ll teach him. And one day, he’ll be a kind noble. Maybe, when he grows up, he will raise his children to be kind too.
“What are you thinking?”
Ti hates when I’m quiet without him initiating it. He often demands access to all my thoughts. And I usually give it to him. But something tells me he wouldn’t be happy with these thoughts.
No one wants to feel like they’re a project.
I FALL INTO a rhythm. Swords and sand and sweat. Steaming skin and straining muscles, all underscored with an incessant fatigue that burrows into me night and day.
Leon’s lips, thin with frustration; my palms, blistered and swollen … it all blurs together throughout the next two weeks, until suddenly, the first challenges of the Sundering are just one week away.
More guards fill the ludus, keeping a careful eye on all of us.
To say the emperor was displeased by the sudden appearance of a dead gladian is an understatement.
According to Maeva, he spent the next day overseeing executions within the arena until even the most hardened Lysorian resident found it difficult to watch the torture—a problem the emperor solved by ensuring the city wardens handed out extra bread and fruit to the populace.
I manage to avoid Rorrik by spending most of my time within the gladian barracks.
Vampires can’t enter unless personally invited, and despite the raging lack of intellect among some of the other gladians, even they wouldn’t be stupid enough to allow vampires who aren’t already gladians access to where we sleep.
Each night, I dream of Tiernon. Each day, I have to block out memories of Kassia.
It’s as if being in this place has unlocked something inside me, and everything I’ve suppressed for six years is flooding out.
For six years, I’ve attempted to forget the most painful moments of my life. Now, I’m assaulted by them.
This morning, I only have a few minutes to talk to my brothers before I need to meet Leon.
Leaning forward, I study them. Gerith’s green eyes are filled with suppressed excitement, while Evren’s hold a sadness he’s attempting to hide.
“What happened?”
Gerith smiles at me and lifts a hand. A piece of parchment floats up to meet it, his gold sigil flaring. The ends of the sigil have lengthened slightly, curling up. My heart trips. “You woke.”
He nods. “Last night. But it’s not a big deal.” He says this quickly, his eyes moving to his brother.
“Congratulations, Ger.” I smile, and he beams at me.
My heart wilts in my chest. The awakening can be dangerous. And even when it’s not, it’s a huge moment. The kind of moment I should have been there for.
“Do it again,” Evren says, and Gerith lifts the parchment. Evren laughs, elbowing his brother, and they tussle.
“I don’t have long,” I say, and Gerith unwraps his arm from around his brother’s neck. “How’s the tutor?”
“Good,” Evren says, and the shadows leave his eyes. He’s always been obsessed with learning. When his lungs were particularly bad and he was confined to his bed, Ger and I would bring him as many books as we could, borrowed from anyone who would give them up.
“We’re learning about Mortuus.” Evren’s voice is low, but I still glance around, ensuring no one can hear our conversation.
“Ev, you know we’re not supposed to speak of him.”
Evren shrugs. “Our tutor encouraged us to study him. The vampires talk about him all the time.”
I study their faces. Wide eyes, intent expressions, an air of … excitement. Enthusiasm. My brothers’ tutor in the Thorn could barely cover basic reading and arithmetic, and for the first time, they’re learning about history and geography. I won’t squash that enthusiasm.
“In that case, tell me what you learned.”
Gerith clears his throat. “Mortuus is the god of ruin, embodying despair, decay, and chaos. Every twenty-five years, on the anniversary of his imprisonment, the bars of Mortuus’s cage grow weak enough for him to briefly escape and walk through the world as a human from dusk until dawn.
” His gaze drops below the mirror and Evren scoffs.
“He’s reading that from the book.”
I hide a smile. “That’s cheating, Ger.”
He shrugs. “Elva told me Mortuus began a war with the other gods thousands of years ago. He wanted to create death and despair, so the other gods united behind Umbros to stop him. Is that true?”
I’ve done something right. My brothers question everything taught to them, especially by vampires.
“Yes,” I say, although I’m not surprised that the vampires have decided Umbros is the hero in this story. “Personally, I’ve always wondered why Umbros would care about what happens to mundanes and sigilmarked.”
“He doesn’t,” Evren says. “It was Mortuus who stole the sun from Umbros’s children. So the vampire god wanted revenge.”
Wait. What?
“Mortuus is the reason vampires can’t go out in the daylight?”
Evren nods. “He took the sun from them as vengeance against Umbros. They had been feuding for thousands of years.”
Not to be undone, Gerith glances down at his textbook.
“The other gods joined with Umbros, each of them donating a piece of their most precious power to create a prison made from the very essence of life. They hid such a place where no one would ever find it, working together for the first time since their own creation.”
That makes perfect sense. If Mortuus had succeeded, there would have been no one left to pray to the other gods. This world would have turned to ruin, and the other gods would have grown weak.
Gerith holds his textbook up to the mirror.
In it, Mortuus stands, his mouth twisted into a snarl, his eyes two dark slits as his hand pounds on a shimmering gold wall.
On the other side of the wall, Anoxian looks on.
The battle god’s hand is wrapped around a sword—the blade so dark, it seems to suck up all the light in the room.
There’s a hint of a smile on Anoxian’s face as he watches Mortuus.
My memory throws me back to Tiernon. Watching him lose the sun, knowing he would never get to feel its warmth on his skin again, seeing the dull acceptance in his eyes …
At that point in my life, experiencing Tiernon’s loss with him counted among my worst moments.
I’d had no idea just how much worse my life was going to get.
Evren picks up the piece of parchment, dropping it so Gerith can catch it with his wind. Despite the envy that must burn within him, Ev’s excited for his brother, already helping him train.
I’ve seen Gerith sit by Evren’s bed for hours reading to him when Ev was too weak to read. I’ve seen Evren save a precious last piece of cheese for his brother because he knows he loves it.
No matter what happened, no matter how much we struggled in the Thorn, they always stuck together. If something happens to me here, they’ll protect each other.
“Velle?” Ev asks. “What’s wrong?”
I attempt a smile. “Nothing. Except that I’m late for training.”
“With Leon?” Ger asks.
“Yes, with Leon.”
His expression hardens and I don’t blame him. While Ev was closer to Kassia, Gerith used to follow Leon around when Tiernon was busy. When Leon retreated, shutting us all out, Ger tried to hide how much it hurt, but I’d known.
“I need to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”