CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The emperor twists in his seat to stare at me. “What. Was. That.”
Rorrik lets out a low, amused chuckle. “Forgive me, Father. You know how I grow bored at these meetings.”
Vallius sighs, rolls his eyes, and casts an exasperated look at Rorrik, as if he’s a small child who has thrown a handful of peas from his plate.
“This is an important dinner,” he says. “Can you not refrain from playing with your food for one night?”
Tiernon gets to his feet. “My imperiums are not his food.”
The emperor sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Apologize, Rorrik.”
Rorrik gives Tiernon a victorious smile. “I apologize, brother.”
I stare at them, blood pouring from my leg, my vision beginning to turn blurry at the edges.
I’ve failed.
Movement to my left.
The newly turned vampire lunges at me, and his sire wraps his leash around her wrist. The vampire rams forward again and again, snarling, bloody spit flying from his mouth.
The emperor lets out an annoyed hiss. “Really, Emala?”
“I apologize, Dominus. Darinth is still learning control.” With a sigh, she uses a claw to slice open her own wrist, holding it out for him. Darinth falls on it like a starving dog falling on a bone.
“I suggest you remove your bleeding imperium, Tiernon,” the emperor says, as if his youngest son is the one responsible.
With a sharp nod, Tiernon steps toward me. I reach for the blade lodged in my thigh and he catches my wrist.
“You know better than that.”
I do know better. From the dizziness sweeping through me, removing the blade could make me bleed out. And several members of the Vampire Council are still avidly watching the blood dripping down my leg.
Tiernon hauls me into his arms and strides toward the door. I open my mouth to tell him about Bran’s orders, and my throat closes.
My mind races and I squeeze his arm as he leaves the room.
“My brothers ….” I can say that much at least.
Tiernon stiffens. And rage flickers in his eyes. That was all I needed to say, and he understands. I had no choice.
“We’re going to get them back, Arvelle,” he murmurs. “Ever since Leon told me it was Bran, I’ve been working with Carrick to find them.”
I stiffen, momentarily distracted from the blade in my thigh. “You’ve been working with Carrick?”
He nods, moving down the long corridor with me.
Something warm spreads through my chest. Tiernon was always jealous of Carrick.
He loathed that he was free to spend as much time with Kassia and me as he wanted, while Tiernon had to constantly sneak into the Thorn.
When Tiernon began turning, Carrick made the mistake of complaining about a sunburned neck in his presence and Tiernon almost killed him.
They were never friends. But they’re working together for my brothers. For me.
“It was difficult to get to your brothers when they were in the north, even with my spies and Carrick’s contacts,” Tiernon murmurs in my ear. “But Bran has recently brought them into my territory. I’m going to get them back for you, Arvelle. I promise.”
Tears prick my eyes. “I didn’t … succeed tonight,” I say, and my throat tightens warningly. “What if …”
I can’t say the words, and Tiernon shakes his head. “Bran will know what Rorrik did. And he won’t be stupid enough to remove his leverage so soon.” Tiernon turns down a familiar corridor and I close my eyes as memories of walking this same corridor with Rorrik flash through me.
“You need to keep your helmet on when you see this healer. I don’t want my father to know it was you.”
“Fine.”
The healer tuts at the sight of my leg. “At least you left the blade in. Do you need to leave the room, Primus?”
Tiernon’s face is tight, his jaw clenched, and he sends me an apologetic look. “I haven’t … fed.” Shame flickers through his eyes and I squeeze his hand. Even with Tiernon’s self-control, I don’t want to torture him. “Go.”
He must be starving, because he doesn’t argue, just sends the healer a warning look and walks out the door.
As the Primus, Tiernon could have fed from any of the mundanes sitting beneath the table at that dinner. He didn’t, because I was there. Because he already thinks of himself as a monster, and he can’t bear the thought that I would think of him as one too.
My neck begins to burn. I slap a hand over it, but the healer is already turning away, reaching for crystals, healing tonics, and herbs.
“Brace yourself,” he says when he steps toward me once more. “This is going to hurt.”
I bite down on my lower lip, thankful that he can’t see the way I cringe.
“It could be worse,” he says conversationally. “If you were a vampire, you would have already begun healing around the blade.”
My vision dims, and I turn my head, wishing I could take my helmet off. I need fresh air.
Agony explodes and I let out a choked scream. The healer sends a worried look toward the door. “Quiet now. The Primus is more on edge than I’ve ever seen him.”
“Oh yes, I’ll ensure my pain doesn’t discomfort the Primus.” My voice drips with sarcasm, but the healer merely nods, handing me a tonic.
“For the pain.”
I stare at him. “You couldn’t have given it to me before you ripped the knife out?”
“There’s a reason your helmet is still on, and if the Primus doesn’t want me to know who you are, then I won’t. I’ll turn my back, and you can take the tonic.”
He slowly turns, and I yank the helmet off, taking several deep breaths. The tonic tastes vaguely sweet, and I swallow it down.
“Finished?”
I shove the helmet back on my head. “Yes.”
The healer begins his chanting, but thanks to the tonic, the pain has receded to a dull ache. By the time he’s finished, I can limp my way to the door.
But Tiernon isn’t waiting for me. Rorrik is.
I sidle away from him, and he tuts, takes my arm and pulls me effortlessly down the hall. “None of that.”
“What are you doing?”
“My dear brother was ordered to return to dinner. He left you in my tender care.”
Rorrik must feel my disbelief, because one shoulder rises in a languid shrug. “We are capable of cooperating occasionally.”
Likely he’s made some kind of bargain with Tiernon. The thought of them working together is disconcerting.
“I can get myself back to the ludus.”
“Ah, but you smell delicious. All that terror and pain and blood. No one could be blamed for stealing a tiny taste if they were to find you alone.”
The image of Rorrik’s sharp white fangs sliding into the mundane’s wrist appears in my mind, and my traitorous body reacts, my blood heating.
My fingers dance toward the hilt of my dagger. “Oh yes they could.”
Rorrik just smiles. If Tiernon has trusted him with me tonight, then I’ll cooperate. Besides, I don’t think I have any fear left in me right now.
Clearly my mind is simply overwhelmed with everything I’ve seen tonight. That’s the only possible explanation for my reluctant fascination. The only possible excuse for finding Rorrik’s bite so … mesmerizing.
Thankfully, Rorrik is quiet as he walks me out of the palace. A guard bows his head. “The carriage is on its way, Your Imperial Highness.”
Rorrik nods, turning to face me as we wait.
“I’ve been studying you, little novice. From what I’ve seen, impulse control isn’t your strong suit, but tonight? Tonight was unrestrained even for you.”
The carriage pulls up in front of us, and the driver opens the door. Climbing into the carriage makes residual pain burn through my thigh, and I remove my helmet once more as Rorrik takes his seat in front of me.
“You know Bran has my brothers.” I’m not sure how he knows, but Rorrik seems to know everything. And yet he hasn’t told Tiernon. Likely, he’s enjoying keeping the information to himself.
“Yes, but you acted wholly without thought for your own life.” Rorrik waves a hand. “Of course you’re becoming well known for your heroics, ‘Kelindra’s daughter.’” He gives me a wicked grin and I want to punch him. “But you were about to throw your life away.”
We fall into silence. The carriage bumps over cobblestones, and I fight to keep my eyes open.
“Arvelle.”
I open my eyes and find Rorrik watching me. The glow from the aether lamps casts shadows across his coldly beautiful face, and I can’t read his expression.
“You shouldn’t fall asleep in front of predators.”
“If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already.”
The air between us turns frigid. “If only that were true.”
Well, I’m wide awake now.
My nap must have been longer than I thought, because the carriage is turning toward the ludus. Unease trickles down my spine. How could I have fallen asleep so close to Rorrik?
“Tonight … that vampire Darinth. The one who was sired …”
Rorrik arches one dark eyebrow and I swallow.
“Never mind.”
“Ask your question.”
I grind my teeth at the order, but I can’t get the vampire out of my mind. Can’t forget the way he crawled, the way he lunged like a ravenous animal. I’m not even sure what my question is.
“Have you done that? Have you … sired someone?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Do you believe I am someone who would enjoy coddling a baby vampire?”
“I didn’t see much coddling tonight.”
Rorrik leans back in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Emala has long had an obsession with siring vampires. It’s why she will never achieve true power within the council. My father considers her little addiction to be unseemly.”
“How many has she sired?”
“Forty-one.”
So many. “Are they all like Darinth?”
“No. The turned vampires rely on their sires to slake their thirst. Emala enjoys seeing how far they will go for her. How desperate they will become.”
I snort. “I’m surprised you haven’t been siring vampires.” It seems like the kind of power games Rorrik would revel in.
The temperature in the carriage plummets, and a predatory gleam enters Rorrik’s eyes. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to.
I shiver. But I’m reluctantly fascinated with vampire power dynamics. “I would have thought siring more vampires would mean more power.”
“The more a vampire sires, the weaker those vampires will be.”