CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE #3
Rorrik takes a step toward me, muscles roiling beneath the exquisite design of his tunic. “Because he noticed you and gave you a few weapons for the arena? Your father issues are showing, darling, and frankly, it’s a little embarrassing.”
I scowl at him. “He was making life better for mundanes and sigilmarked. That’s why you wanted him dead.”
“Because I’m the evil vampire?”
“Being a vampire has nothing to do with it.”
Rage glitters in Rorrik’s eyes and my skin turns clammy. Awareness floods through me, and I take a step back. I’m alone with him, entirely at his mercy. If he wanted, he could end me. Some part of him does want to. I’m sure of it.
“Tiberius Cotta wasn’t the person you think he was.”
My hand is slipping down to my blade, one leg shifting back as I prepare to—
I release the hilt of my knife. “What do you mean?”
He gives me a knowing look. “Do you want to know what Cotta was doing when he spent his time in places like the Thorn?”
My mouth is so dry, all I can do is nod.
“He was gathering the sect of Mortuus and sacrificing the poorest citizens in Senthara to the god of ruin. He wanted to free the god who loathes vampires more than any other, to ensure the balance of power swings to the sigilmarked. For good.”
“You’re lying.” No one would be stupid enough to free a god who revels in death and destruction. But my memory pushes me back to the cloak I stole from Tiberius’s closet. And the gold bracelet inside its pocket. The mark of Mortuus on the bracelet, and on each of the bodies I saw in the ludus.
Rorrik’s eyes are cool. “Putting the pieces together?”
Those murders … they were happening frequently—some of them just days apart. Gradon’s body was found the morning of the third challenge. I killed Tiberius Cotta that night. And no bodies have been discovered since. Was he killing people in the ludus as well?
My stomach churns, and Rorrik gives me a humorless smile. His rage is tucked away out of sight now, but I know it still lingers. I can feel it.
I stare at him, silent. He stares back, and when I don’t reply, he shakes his head.
“Good night, Arvelle.” His voice is formal. Stilted.
I’m still staring sightlessly at the sofa when he closes the common room door behind him.
I’M SITTING WITH Tiernon beneath our tree. We don’t climb it anymore—haven’t for years. But this will always be our place.
He plays with my hair, his eyes distant, and I watch him, obsessed with every flicker of his expression. Last night was … everything.
My cheeks warm, and he grins. “Blushing, Arvelle?”
Despite the darkness, I know he can see it. Vampires have much sharper senses than maginari and sigilmarked.
I clear my throat. “What are you thinking about?”
“My brother.”
I go still, as I always do when he talks about his family. His refusal to speak of them has been something I’ve tried to understand but never could.
I paste what I hope is a nonchalant expression onto my face. “Oh yeah?”
His lips twitch, but he pulls me close, until I’m lying with my head on his thighs.
I know little about Ti’s brother. When he was younger, he would grin as he talked about him, rolling his eyes at his brother’s decrees. If his brother learned that he was coming to the Thorn, Ti would be in big trouble—I knew that much.
What would it be like to have a family member that … cared? The twins are so young, and I know they love me, but I’m that person for them.
My mother … my chest aches, and I rub at it in an attempt to ease the pain. Ti catches my hand and presses a tender kiss to my knuckles.
“You’re lucky,” I say hoarsely. “I know your brother can be overprotective, but at least he worries about you.”
He sighs. “It’s not that simple. I did something unforgivable. If he ever learns of it, he’ll hate me for the rest of his life.”
“How do you know it’s unforgivable? He might surprise you, Ti.”
“I know, because if he did it to me, I would do anything I could to make sure he suffered.” He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “And still, even if I could take it back, I wouldn’t. What kind of brother does that make me?”
My heart aches for him, and I reach for his hand, holding tight. I hope one day I’ll get to meet his brother. I’ll tell him exactly how much Tiernon loves him.
I WAS WARNED Nyrant would be unhappy I missed training.
At the time, it was low on my list of priorities, since I was relatively sure I was going to die.
I’m regretting that now as he leans close, his power pressing down on me. Any other time I would be shaking, desperately intimidated by the threat of that power. Clearly, I’ve been spending too much time with Rorrik if Nyrant no longer scares me.
“Two days,” he grits out. “You’re lucky the novices are solely under my domain. If you were still a gladian, you’d be dead for this. Sprints,” he orders. “I’ll tell you when you can stop.”
Since sprints are likely the reason I’ve built what little stamina I have, I nod, turning to go without a word. I don’t mind sprints. What I do mind is the cold look Leon gives me when I meet his eyes.
“I heard what happened last night,” he says as I take my place at the wall.
The others are already sorting themselves into groups.
Poor Etaina is all alone, staring glumly at her knife.
She’s tall and long-limbed with dusky bronze skin and a wide, engaging smile.
I haven’t talked to her much, but I know we both have one thing in common.
Out of all the novices in this room, we’re the lowest on the power scale. Although even Etaina’s bronze sigil is longer than mine by almost half an inch on either side. Her sigil glows as I watch, and she uses tiny bursts of her power to push her knife across the floor.
Across the room, Calena is working with a group of silver sigilmarked. Maeva walks past, still ignoring me, and Leon raises his eyebrow as Albion nods to both of us.
“I failed,” I say, choosing not to address the Maeva situation. “Rorrik made me turn the knife on myself.”
“That explains the limp. It also explains why I attempted to leave my rooms last night only to continually become befuddled and forget where I was going the moment I stepped into the corridor.” His voice is pure ice.
I wince. When I asked Deitra for a distraction, that wasn’t exactly what I meant. I meet Leon’s eyes. “I wasn’t going to let you throw your life away.”
“So you tried to throw your own away.”
“And it didn’t work. Because Rorrik’s playing some game with his brother. If you’d attempted the same thing, you would have died.”
Leon sets his jaw, but he knows I’m right.
“Your brothers?”
“I don’t know. Rorrik says Bran won’t kill them. He still needs me. But …”
His expression softens. “I know.”
“You should be sprinting, novice,” Nyrant shouts, and Leon gives him an unfriendly look but picks up my shield, holding it out.
I don’t take it. “Nyrant didn’t say I had to carry a parma.”
He gives me a sharp smile. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here to oversee your training, isn’t it?”
Grumbling, I take the shield and begin my sprints.
Nyrant watches me the entire time, refusing to allow me to join the others.
A few minutes before training is due to end, Jorah slips through one of the side doors in the training hall. I only see him because I’m about to sprint down that side of the hall—although I’m so tired, my sprint has become a limping jog.
His wide eyes find mine, but for once I can’t read his expression. When Nyrant finally ends training, and I switch to a walk, Jorah trots up to me.
“Your face is very red.”
I almost smile. Jorah’s own cheeks pinken and he looks at the floor.
“Sorry. I got your note. And the weapons. And I asked Micah. He said you weren’t lying.
He said he’s going to train me.” His eyes meet mine as we turn and continue walking.
At the other end of the hall, Leon lifts a hand as he leaves.
Jorah steps back into my view. “Why did you do that, Arvelle? Was it because you wanted me to forgive you?”
There’s something innocent about Jorah, and I choose my words carefully.
“I did it because I’m sorry.” I lower my voice. “I can’t tell you what happened with Tiberius Cotta, but I promise, one day I’ll explain why.”
His gaze drops to the ground, and he shifts on his feet. “I don’t forgive you. I can’t.”
My throat burns and I attempt to swallow. “I don’t expect you to.”
He gives me a somber nod. “I have to go now.”
I watch Jorah go. The rest of the novices have already cleared out, and the imperius must be training late today, because a group of them are walking in, Micah and Deitra deep in conversation.
I stroll toward them. Leaning up to my tiptoes, I press a kiss to Micah’s cheek. His stubble is rough beneath my lips and I can feel him grin. “You’re a good man.”
“Did you hear that, Primus?” he preens, his eyes dancing. “Looks like you’ve got some competition.”
Deitra shakes her head at us, but I’m relatively sure she’s hiding a grin.
Tiernon wraps a possessive arm around my shoulders, and I glance up at him with a raised brow. We usually keep touching to a minimum around others.
“Just marking my territory,” he rumbles, and I roll my eyes, wiggling free. He sweeps his gaze down me. “You look exhausted.”
“Nyrant wasn’t happy with me.”
Tiernon’s eyes cool, but I shake my head at him. Nyrant may be a member of the imperius, but gladian training is his. I don’t need Tiernon getting involved and making things worse.
“I need a shower.”
Tiernon opens his mouth, but a guard walks through the door, his face blank. He leans close to Tiernon, whispering something I can’t catch. When Tiernon’s eyes meet mine, they’re dark with sorrow.
“Arvelle.”
I know that expression on his face.
Fear slams into me like a fist to the gut. “My brothers.”
He takes my elbow, leading me away from the imperius. “No,” he says. “It’s Leon.