CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE #2
“What do you mean?”
Rorrik gives me an indulgent smirk. “I suppose it’s similar to the sigilmarked and the way the likelihood of a strong sigil decreases with each child. Some quirk of this world ensures neither vampires nor sigilmarked will outnumber the mundanes. Not when power is so important.”
“So … any vampires Emala sires will be weak?”
A languid shrug. “No one truly knows how much of a turned vampire’s strength is due to the innate will and strength of their chosen mundane, and how much is the result of their sire’s power.
Emala’s next vampire could surprise her.
But they will never be close to the first few vampires she sired.
And it’s most likely that they will only live a couple of centuries at most.”
I shake my head. What must it be like to speak of time in terms of centuries? “And born vampires? Like you?”
“I am born of a First. I will outlive most on this continent.”
His arrogance makes me want to bring him down a notch. “Sounds lonely.” I smile sweetly. “And boring. What about other born vampires?”
“They are entirely at the mercy of their own parents’ bloodlines.” His gaze lingers on my sigil. “Just as the sigilmarked are.”
The carriage slows, and Rorrik pins me with a cold stare. “You haven’t asked me what you truly want to know.”
“And what would that be?”
“Whether my brother has sired vampires of his own.”
“And has he?” My voice is hoarse, and Rorrik gives me a dismissive look.
“Ask him yourself.”
The carriage door suddenly swings open. We’ve pulled to a stop outside the ludus. When the driver offers his hand, I’m not too proud to take it, even with the vampire at my back.
“Thank you.”
Rorrik climbs out and I scowl up at him. “Your deal with Tiernon is complete. I’m here.”
He ignores me, nodding to the driver, who climbs back up into the seat and clicks his tongue.
Rorrik gestures for me to enter the ludus. It’s an entrance I haven’t seen before.
“Why are you here, Rorrik? Shouldn’t you be skulking around looking for whatever it is you’re hunting?”
He’s suddenly standing in front of me, his nose inches from mine. “Careful.”
I stop breathing. I was wrong. I have plenty of fear left in me.
Rorrik smiles. Smug bastard.
“You know, you never seemed to ask yourself why you couldn’t help but strike at my father the night of the Sundering Ball. You completely ignored your own instincts, didn’t you?”
I did.
Rorrik nods, as if he’s come to some conclusion I don’t understand. When he turns, I follow him into the entrance, down a staircase, and into a corridor near the imperius’s quarters.
Two novices walk around the corner, take one look at Rorrik, and change directions. He ignores them, his eyes on me.
“The moment Bran spoke to you at the Sundering Ball was the moment he solidified his grip on you, squeezing until the bond drove your actions. He wanted my father dead quickly, so he ensured the impulse to kill the emperor was impossible for you to ignore. You’re lucky I was there—in fact, you should be thanking me.
Without a target to point you at, you probably would have attempted to kill the emperor at the ball itself. ”
The corridor spins dizzily around me. I’ve felt out of control since the moment I arrived. Because my actions weren’t wholly my own.
Rorrik ruthlessly continues. “How much of a fuss did you make before you decided to throw your life away tonight? It must have taken most of Bran’s power to make you walk into that room. You told yourself it was solely because of your brothers, but the truth is you couldn’t help it.”
I stumble on my injured leg. Rorrik reaches out and I flinch away, pressing my back to the wall. He goes still.
My mind provides me with memory after memory, all tainted by this new information. “You’re saying Bran’s been playing with me like I’m his puppet. Nothing I’ve done has been my choice.”
Rorrik’s low laugh dances across my skin. “I wouldn’t go that far. All your other impulsive decisions were your own. Bran certainly didn’t want you to draw attention to yourself with your misguided heroics.”
Strangely, that makes me feel better.
It makes sense though. The itch beneath my skin whenever I was near the emperor. The almost uncontrollable urge to kill him, despite the consequences.
We reach the imperius’s quarters, and I drop my helmet. “I need a minute.”
Rorrik steps back, watching as I limp to the nearest sofa. I let my head fall into my hands.
“Would you like me to kill Bran for you, darling?” I lift my head, and he chuckles, prowling closer.
“You would, wouldn’t you? For all your moral superiority, you would love for him to die right now.
But then you’d have your freedom. And we can’t have that.
Not when you’ve made everything so interesting around here. ”
I make it to my feet. “You can leave now.”
“Ask me to break your bond with Bran.”
I stare at him. My neck begins to burn, as if rebelling against the suggestion, and I slap my hand against it. Something predatory enters Rorrik’s eyes.
I swallow. “Vampire bonds can’t be broken.”
Power swamps the room. It’s so thick I can taste it, my tongue tingling, my ears ringing. Distantly, I realize I’ve slumped from the sofa and onto my knees.
A sigil appears on Rorrik’s brow. An intricate, glowing, gold sigil. A sigil that stretches entirely over his forehead.
“Impossible.” I choke on the word. “Sigilmarked and vampires can’t …”
But … Rorrik used fire in the library.
Rorrik saunters closer. His lips curve in a smug grin, but his eyes are feral. “My father created the law banning sigilmarked and vampires from procreating because of me. Because he briefly loved my mother and I was the result.”
I’m too dizzy to reply.
Slowly, as if it’s painful, Rorrik begins to pull his power back, hiding it away once more. I lift my head, gulping air into my lungs.
“Does he know you have this much power?”
Rorrik playfully bites his lip with one fang. My stomach clenches and I manage to make it to my feet. His gaze drops to my thigh, and something I don’t recognize flickers through his eyes.
The emperor must be holding something over his son to keep him in line. It’s the only explanation. But Rorrik does nothing without a reason. Tiernon is right—he’s always three steps ahead.
He could kill Bran. I knew that much before this little display of power. Instead, he’s offering to break the bond.
“Why not kill him?”
“I need him alive. For now.”
Why? Because Bran is working with the rebels? Those rebels would kill Rorrik if they could. My head hurts. Attempting to understand Rorrik’s motivations is like learning aether-based alchemy.
“If you need Bran, then why would you break the bond? Is this about Tiernon?”
Rorrik lifts one eyebrow. “Not everything is about my brother.”
“And yet you have some kind of issue with him.”
Rorrik sits on the sofa, lounging across it like a cat. He waves his hand, silently ordering me to join him. I hesitate, and he waits until I sit at the other end of the sofa.
Rorrik’s gaze narrows, and I get the strangest feeling he’s considering closing the distance between us.
“So?” he asks.
Gods, I would love to no longer be bonded to Bran. Even knowing Rorrik does nothing without an ulterior motive, the temptation is almost impossible to resist. And still …
“I … can’t. Not until I get my brothers back. If the bond breaks, Bran will know I won’t kill the emperor. And he’ll kill my brothers. He just warned me that he has a group of vampires devoted to keeping them safe.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t argue, but his eyes narrow in contemplation.
We fall into a strangely comfortable silence. Warning bells begin a low thrum in my head. No. There should be no comfortable silences.
I roll to my feet, stomach churning. My thigh screams at me, and Rorrik glowers. “What are you doing?”
My skin prickles. This is the man who made me kill Tiberius Cotta. The same man who killed Lucius after playing cards with him just hours earlier.
Getting cozy with Rorrik, having conversations with him … it’s a betrayal to everyone he has hurt and killed. Any help he’s offering will come with the kind of strings that are likely to strangle me.
“Thank you for helping me get back here.” The words are stilted, formal, and Rorrik’s eyes narrow, turning to pools of ice. Ice that slowly crawls down my spine.
“What is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play with me.”
“Fine. I just remembered who you are.”
“And who am I?”
I take a deep, shuddering breath. Rorrik’s eyes sharpen, like a hawk spotting its prey.
“You’re a monster.”
One side of his mouth kicks up. “A monster? That seems a little excessive.”
Every muscle in my body stiffens. It’s viciously unfair that someone so evil is also so compelling.
My frustration makes me reckless. “You didn’t even let Lucius complete his sentence when you murdered him. You couldn’t even give him that.”
His face turns white, and the temperature of the room plummets. Slowly, he gets to his feet. “No. I couldn’t give him the opportunity to relieve my brother of his responsibility. Tiernon should have protected his people.”
“Protected them from his father? From you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand you—”
“You don’t need to—”
“But I understand this much. You killed one of your brother’s people—one of his friends—in front of him.” My eyes sting. “Some of the imperiums considered Lucius a brother.”
A muscle twitches in Rorrik’s jaw. “I’ve known Lucius since before Tiernon ever met him. We played together as children.”
I gape at him. “You think that makes it better? You were friends once, and you still killed him. That makes it even worse.”
Bitterness wars with the temper in Rorrik’s eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look anything other than languidly amused, carefully bored, or coldly enraged.
He’s dangerous. But now that I’ve begun, it’s like I can’t stop. All the hurt and fury comes pouring out of me.
“It’s not just Lucius. You made me kill Tiberius Cotta. He was a good man.”