Chapter 6
TITLES
SAERIS
A SEPULCHRE.
The Blood Court kept its quicksilver in a fucking sepulchre on one of the lower floors of the palace.
I had surveyed the dark necropolis, trying not to stare into the empty eye sockets of the stacked skulls that formed the walls, feeling both vindicated and sick to my stomach.
The dull chatter in the back of my head made sense now.
I hadn’t fabricated it. But the knowledge that the pool—it was small; I’d been right about that—was here meant that I would have no peace from it now.
It seemed that I wouldn’t be able to escape the miserable thrum of pain that beat behind my runes, either.
Fisher hadn’t seemed as perturbed as I would have expected him to be. “You know, this isn’t a bad thing,” he’d said.
“It isn’t?”
“No, Osha. I meant it back in the council chamber. You’re coming back to Cahlish with me tonight.
This just means our journey will be much easier.
No more riding across the dead fields.” It took hours to cross the dead fields.
Feral feeders lived in burrows dug deep into the ash and char.
They hid from the sun below ground during the day, but the moment the sun began to dip, they emerged from their bolt-holes with a mind to feed.
They wouldn’t attack me, but they posed a threat to the horses.
To Kingfisher and Lorreth, too. With Fisher’s magic decommissioned on this side of the Darn, we hadn’t been able to use his shadow gates, but now we didn’t need to.
We had access to a pool.
So I’d made relics out of a chain kindly supplied by Taladaius, a signet ring belonging to Lorreth, and a small charm of one of the gods that Fisher attached to a collar for Onyx, and that had been that.
Less than an hour later, we’d made use of the unexpected resource, and now here we were, back at Cahlish, none the worse for wear from the experience.
A stunning dress in hunter-green velvet had been waiting for me, laid out on Fisher’s bed, when I’d gone to freshen up.
Tiny jewels—emeralds, I suspected—decorated the plunging neckline.
The sleeves had been embroidered with green stitching, subtle, barely visible, depicting a pattern that, upon close inspection, turned out to be tiny leaping foxes.
A beautiful dress, undeniably.
I had run my hand over the soft material, something pinching tight behind my solar plexus.
It would fit me perfectly. Evidently, it had been made for me. But . . .
I’d still been wearing my fighting leathers when I’d met Fisher on the stairs.
My mate had beamed at me, apparently unfazed that I hadn’t chosen to don the dress, but a kernel of guilt had taken root in my chest. I was still feeling a little bad about my decision when we arrived together at the dining room.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Fisher said, holding his hand against the doorknob.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Really?”
“When did you get so anxious?” I grinned at him.
“I promise I’m ready. After those feeders crossing the river?
And seeing that mark? We all need a moment.
This will be good for all of us.” I said the words.
I was supposed to. I smiled because I was supposed to do that, too, but the thoughts churned relentlessly in the back of my head regardless:
Were the infected feeders sent by Madra?
How had they gotten here from Zilvaren?
How the fuck were we going to kill them?
Would there be more?
I knew the same worries plagued Fisher. He did a beautiful job of hiding it, though. A part of me resented that we were playing this game of pretend, but what I’d just said was true. We did need some kind of respite.
“Okay, then. If you’re sure—”
“Fisher!” I laughed. “Just open the door!”
He hid a smirk as he turned the handle and swung open the dining room door for me.
I seized hold of the image, capturing it quickly; a smile from the Lord of Cahlish was a rare thing.
I’d started capturing each moment it happened on an imaginary vellum, filing the memories away in my mind to keep forever.
The sight of his upturned mouth and the tentative laughter in his eyes made a nice addition to my collection.
“I told them you were coming,” he confessed, the admission shyly made.
Had I ever seen him like this before? Nope.
It was unbearably sweet. There was no time to savor this new side of Fisher, though, because as soon as the door swung open, a wave of excitement and cheering exploded inside the dining room.
Renfis stood, raising a glass of whiskey in the air.
Te Léna and a handsome male with dark brown skin—her mate, I assumed—grinned, crying out their welcomes.
Joining them were Lorreth and Archer, Danya and Iseabail . . . . . . and over the top of the warm welcome came the excited squeal of a small white fox.
“Onyx!”
As soon as we’d arrived back at Cahlish, the fox had darted off—to go hunting, I’d assumed—but apparently he’d sneaked into the dining room before us and reacquainted himself with our friends.
He leaped out of Iseabail’s lap and darted across the dining room in a streak of white and black.
I barely had time to get my hands out in front of me before he launched himself into my arms and began licking my face and neck.
“Oh—Oh my goodness. Hey, buddy. Hi, hi, hi. Yes, I’m happy to see you, too.
” He chittered, squirming all over the place.
Anyone would have thought he hadn’t seen me in a year.
Fisher made a show of looking grumpy about it, but there was that shadow of a smile again, hovering at the corners of his mouth as the little fox twisted in my arms and rained affection down on him as well.
“I should probably take him to Ballard,” Fisher said. “Wendy could look after him. Just until all of this blows over.”
I pretended to scowl at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Fisher winked surreptitiously, letting me know that he was joking. “Far be it from me to come between a female and her fox.”
It had only been a couple of days, but Onyx seemed completely recovered from his ordeal, crossing the mountain range and being chased by the feeders.
His paws were fine. His coat was pure white, thick and full.
The limp that had been troubling him was gone now, too.
I buried my face in his fur and inhaled deeply, using the action to hide the fact that I was taking a moment.
This was a lot. I hadn’t expected to feel so overwhelmed. I looked up, beaming at my mate. “I didn’t realize this was such an official gathering.”
“Of course it is!” Ren cried. “The last time most of us saw you, we were shoving you up into a shadow gate in the library. Having you back here at Cahlish in one piece is something to be celebrated!”
Their expressions bore no animosity, but something squeezed unpleasantly in my chest. “In one piece” was a bit of a stretch. I wasn’t the same person I had been when Ren and Lorreth had shoved me through that shadow gate. Not even remotely. What was I to them now? Their friend? Their enemy?
Fisher still loved me, but our souls had been bound by the gods.
No matter what, we were fated to be together.
There were no invisible ties binding me to any of the people before me.
Lorreth, Ren, and Danya had spent centuries fighting against Malcolm’s horde.
They’d lost scores of people, people they’d loved, in the pursuit of protecting Yvelia from the evil that inhabited Sanasroth.
And now here I was, half vampire, half the thing they hated most in the world, and they were rushing to greet me.
I hadn’t had friends in Zilvaren. Friends were expensive.
In the end, they always cost you. Your food.
Your water. Your money. Your safety. Your life.
Connections with others taxed your resources in a place like the Third, and I never had enough of anything to begin with.
I’d told myself, when I’d woken up in Ammontraíeth and discovered what I’d become, that it didn’t matter to me if I lost the people in this room because of it.
But now that they were all smiling warmly at me and coming forward to hug me, a part of me cracked and broke inside.
It would have mattered.
It would have mattered a lot.
Ren was first to hug me. It was his reaction I’d worried most about.
He hadn’t come to visit me in Sanasroth like Lorreth had.
When I’d asked Fisher if I should expect him, he’d apologized and said he’d left him in charge of Irrín and that he wasn’t able to leave the camp, but I’d seen through his reasoning.
I’d known it for what it was: an excuse.
I hadn’t pushed, though. I hadn’t wanted to have my suspicions confirmed.
But there was no disgust or fear on the general’s face as he drew me to him tight.
“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you,” he said into my hair.
“All right, that’s enough,” Fisher grumbled.
Renfis pulled back, laughing. “I’m not going to say it outright, but you know how you’re behaving, right?” he said.
Fisher made a show of scowling, but he shoved his friend playfully.
Lorreth threw his arm around my shoulder, which didn’t seem to make Fisher any happier, but he bore his brothers showing their affection for me with some grace, at least. Lorreth’s grin fell when Iseabail, the auburn-haired witch, stepped forward to greet me.
He muttered something about treacherous blood, and when she reached out to take my hand in hers, he made a sound of disgust and retracted his arm, stalking away to take his seat at the dining table.