CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX #2
As a gold sigilmarked, I should be with the other golds. But my sigil is still so small—even with its recent growth—if I was ever to truly become a Praesidium guard, I would never be given an important role. I’d have no chance to work my way up the ranks. I would be fodder, sent to the front lines.
Even if I understood how I used Antigrus’s power to create a shield, I can never let anyone see it.
I trust the few imperiums who saw what I can do to keep their mouths shut—none of them would do anything that could hurt Tiernon.
But I have to be so, so careful around everyone else.
The silvery blue sheen associated with griffon power is too recognizable.
And I’ve never heard of maginari gifting sigilmarked with power before.
I sprint and sweat and suck in deep, desperate breaths. When Nyrant finally calls an end to training, Leon crosses his arms. “I want to talk to you.”
I gesture for him to get on with it and he shakes his head. “I’ll meet you back at your room after lunch.”
“Fine.”
Kaeso walks past, alone. He was one of the few vampire gladians who chose to be friendly with the sigilmarked, but even his affable charm couldn’t bridge the divide after the emperor ordered the guard Rorrik distracted to be turned.
“Kaeso.”
He stops, his eyes wary.
“I just wanted to say thank you. For helping us at the Circus yesterday.”
His face turns carefully blank. “You need to thank me, to give me positive reinforcement because I’m a vampire and we’re vicious loners who care about nothing but ourselves, is that it?”
I rear back, stung. “No. That’s not it—”
“I saw the horror on your face just now, when you learned the emperor punished sigilmarked who betrayed the vampires who trusted them. Vampires who had no choice but to rely on day-walkers to advocate for their best interests.”
Is he trying to convince me that vampires are somehow the victims in this empire—an empire formed by one of the First vampires Umbros ever created?
Kaeso sneers, displaying his fangs. Until now, he’s been extremely careful to fit in with the sigilmarked. So careful to not be a threat, to be just one of the other gladians.
“Sigilmarked seem to think they’re the only ones who struggle in this empire,” he says. “As if mundanes aren’t barely surviving, and as if vampires don’t fight the call of the sun each and every day.”
My confusion seems to infuriate him, and he takes a step closer, his entire body trembling. Over his shoulder, I catch Maeva watching us, eyebrows lowered in concern.
“I was nine years old when I watched my father succumb to sun madness. Can you imagine what it’s like to watch the servants chain your father to his bed so he won’t sprint out the front door at dawn to burn himself alive?”
Bile burns up my throat. “No. I can’t.”
“The sigilmarked could save us from that,” Kaeso says. “But you refuse to. And we’re the monsters.” He lets out a hollow laugh.
Another vampire who believes the sigilmarked could give them the sun. I open my mouth to repeat what Tiernon told me—that such measures are only temporary—but Kaeso is already stalking away. Maeva gives me a questioning look and I wave at her, signaling I’m fine.
For the first time since I watched Tiernon lose the sun, I truly pity the vampires.
They’re held hostage by their need. Already, sigilmarked sell the kinds of tonics Bran favors—brewed by sigilmarked healers who give vampires stark warnings to use only occasionally and with great care due to the risk of madness.
Many of the novices remain in the training hall. The vampires stand in a group, ignoring the sigilmarked, who stare at them with open disgust. The divide is unmistakable.
We may have survived the Sundering, but the cracks are beginning to show.
Just days ago, we made it through the naval battle together, fighting side by side.
But the emperor’s choice to turn a sigilmarked has done what three brutal challenges in the arena could not: it’s reminded the sigilmarked and vampire novices that we will always be enemies.
“Arvelle? What was that about?” Maeva nods in Kaeso’s direction and I sigh.
“He’s … upset. You know he was friendly with some of the others, and they’ve turned on him.” Kaeso was one of the few vampires who wanted to be friends with the sigilmarked. One of the few who wasn’t entirely convinced of vampire superiority.
Maeva lowers her voice to the barest whisper.
“I’m not surprised he’s upset. I heard one of the vampires who was betrayed walked into the sun yesterday.
The emperor is keeping it quiet, but apparently the vampire thought his emissary was his friend.
The betrayal pushed him over the edge and into sun madness. ”
My gut twists. I can’t imagine the betrayal that vampire felt.
A strange fluttering begins in my chest, and a hint of blue glow highlights my skin. Horror fills me, and the shield grows darker, slowly beginning to take form.
A chill ripples down my spine. “I need to go,” I mumble. “I need to do … something.”
Maeva raises an eyebrow, but I’m already turning away. “I’ll talk to you later.”
I hurry out of the training hall and lean against the stone wall, forcing myself to do the visualization exercise Tiernon taught me.
A pond. Still. No ripples.
Slowly, the blue fades away. My head swims, and I stagger, lurching away from the training hall.
Why did the shield begin forming now? I wasn’t under any kind of threat.
If anyone had noticed …
Feeling nauseated, I pick up my pace, my footsteps echoing on stone. The air suddenly feels heavy, pressing against my skin like a thick, humid blanket.
An unmistakable awareness flickers at the edge of my senses, and my breaths turn jagged, dread coiling low in my gut.
It’s the same sick sensation I felt in the corridor between Leon’s room and the gladian barracks the night I killed Tiberius.
My fingers twitch toward the hilt of my dagger, the prickle intolerable. It no longer feels like an icy caress along my skin. It’s a chill that soaks into my muscles, lodging in my bones.
Slowly, I turn. As expected, the corridor is empty. But I’m being watched. I know I am.
“Help me.” The voice is a plea and a demand all at once. It reverberates inside my head, as if someone is mindpathing to me. But I have enough experience with that power to know this is very, very different.
Frigid, invisible fingers skim the length of my spine, until my teeth ache, my fingers stiffening around my weapon.
The presence feels closer—a weight in the air that presses suffocatingly close.
It’s a strange pull, as if the presence is attempting to guide me somewhere.
A whisper brushes my ear, the sound low and guttural.
“Help.”
And then it’s gone.
My entire body is taut, trembling with the remnants of terror.
Maybe this is Tiberius, refusing to move on. Maybe he’s enraged, determined to make me pay.
But that voice wasn’t familiar. And it asked for help.
Perhaps this is it. Perhaps I’m truly losing my mind.
It takes more willpower than I’d like to admit, but I shove aside the paralyzing dread and force myself to continue walking, until I’m standing at the spot where I first met Jorah.
Leaning my body against the familiar spot on the wall, I shove, cursing when it doesn’t move.
Pressing my fingers into the rough stone, I try again and again.
“Jorah!” I hiss.
No answer.
“Please. I need help.”
“Jorah.” I slump against the wall, head spinning dizzily.
But it’s not just my head spinning. I stumble with a yelp, the light dimming further as the wall gives way behind me.
Jorah eyes me. “Hello.”
I’m so relieved, I could throw my arms around him. But he’s leaning close, studying my face. “When was the last time you slept?”
I shrug. Even if I hadn’t spent last night with Tiernon, I still wouldn’t have been able to sleep.
Each time I close my eyes, I see the grim acceptance in Lucius’s eyes, moments before his heart was ripped from his chest. And I see Tiberius Cotta smiling congenially down at me, his lifeblood gushing from his throat.
“I need some help,” I say. “Last time we spoke, you mentioned a library.”
His face closes up, and I want to bury my hands in his tunic and shake him. “Please, Jorah. It’s important.”
“It’s forbidden for gladians to enter.”
“I’m a novice now.”
“Novices are only allowed under vampire supervision.”
“If I’m caught, I’ll take your involvement to the grave. I swear.”
Antigrus’s words echo again through my head.
“Use it well.”
The griffon somehow transferred some of his powers to me as he died.
I’ve never heard of such a thing—never thought it could be possible.
Tomorrow, I’ll be standing in the same room as the emperor.
I’ll plunge a silver knife into him, in front of the Vampire Council.
What if … what if there’s a chance I could control that power, could use it to protect myself?
Jorah studies my face for a long moment. Finally, he sighs. “Come with me.”
I fall into step beside him. This corridor is narrow, its walls made of uneven stone blocks, worn smooth. Faint markings have been etched into the stone, and the floor beneath our feet is slightly concave in the center, absorbing the sounds of our footsteps.
Jorah’s mouth is turned down, and I study his face. He still seems sad. Muted. Because of me.
Tiberius Cotta was a good person. Someone who sponsored me when I had no one—someone who provided me with weapons that saved my life.
One little conversation and you decided to trust me. Rorrik’s words taunt me.
“Arvelle?” Jorah’s brows crease and I force myself to attempt a smile.
“I’m fine.”
With a frown, he continues walking until we get to a silver door. It gleams in the faint glow of the aether lamps on the wall, every inch of it carefully polished.
“Here,” Jorah says. “Do you remember how to get back?”
“Remind me again.” I’m not risking a repeat of last time, so I listen carefully to Jorah’s instructions.