Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Avoid the veydran.
CELINE
I need to keep an eye on Luca.
There’s a wild gleam in his eyes, and it’s got nothing to do with his pupils narrowing to slits every few minutes.
When he returns with Malach and Ciprian, I link our fingers and squeeze. His calloused hand feels perfect against mine.
“No heroics,” I tell him. “I mean it, Luca. Don’t make me chain you to my ass.”
“Kinky.” He’s teasing me, but there’s no humor in his eyes.
“Luca, please.”
“I’m good, baby. Upset, but I’m here, aren’t I?”
I frown and tighten my grip on his hand. “You seem . . .”
“Miserable,” Alistair says. “With a dash of self-loathing.”
“Fuck off.” Luca shoves Ali with his free hand, but it’s halfhearted. “You would know, Mister I-would-rather-starve-to-death-than-tell-the-people-I-care-about-that-I-need-their-blood-to-survive.”
Alistair shrugs, then gives me a loaded look. We’re on the same page, and it makes me feel better. With Ali’s help, we’ll hopefully be able to give Luca the same level of support he gives the rest of us. I’m not alone in this.
“I don’t have an abundance of bedrooms,” Riven says briskly. He’s acting more like a snooty concierge at an upscale Vegas casino than a face-shifting prison warden. “Cutting into the mountain wasn’t easy, and I had no reason to believe I would need room for guests.
“We can sleep anywhere,” I say. “We’ve certainly had worse.” Am I petty to remind him? Maybe, but I’m not a pushover. If he thinks I’m going to skip away from this realm with a heaping helping of Stockholm Syndrome, he can think again.
Riven’s lips twitch. “Point taken.”
“Do you wear that face all the time?” Luca asks.
I kick him in the shin, but he doesn’t even flinch.
Riven stiffens. “I can wear something different if you prefer.”
“No.” I kick Luca again. “We don’t need that; Luca was just being . . .” I sigh, unsure what word could make this moment less awkward.
“An asshole,” Alistair says.
“Curious, not an asshole,” Luca argues. “I’ve never heard of a veydra showing . . . the underneath part.” Good gods. The underneath part? Really, Luca?
Riven sighs heavily and glances at his feet.
“I find it unnerving to wear someone else’s face for an extended period.
” He points through a dark doorway. “This will be your room.” I blink until my eyes adjust to the gloom.
It’s about the size of my bedroom at home, but the bed itself is bigger, filling most of the floor space.
“The bathroom is through there. The water’s heated, but the charm only lasts for about thirty minutes before needing to recharge. ”
There’s dust piled in the corner, and my index finger twitches. “You don’t come here often, do you?”
Riven shakes his head. “It’s difficult while keeping it a secret.”
“Should we set up a watch?” Alistair asks.
“I have wards in place.”
I nod, and Luca squeezes my hand. Wards or not, we’ll be keeping watch. I don’t trust Riven. This place is drenched in witch magic, but that’s about as much of a barrier against celestial magic as a bargain bin shower curtain.
“Call for me if you need anything.” Riven leaves in a hurry, his cloak swishing around his ankles. My lips purse. He couldn’t get away from us any faster if he tried.
I glance at the dust on the floor again.
“No. Absolutely not,” Luca says.
“What?” I raise my eyebrows, pretending I don’t know exactly what he’s getting at.
“You’re not scrubbing the shuck’s safe house all night.”
“Shh.” I clap my hand over his mouth. “Don’t call him that. We’re in his home.”
“Yeah,” Ciprian closes the door behind he and Malach. “It’s bad manners to insult the people who house you.”
Luca taps his foot on the floor. “What if they abducted you, then forced you to fight in a fucking arena?”
Ciprian shrugs. “I’m not sure. That wasn’t one of the etiquette hypotheticals my mom quizzed me on. I’ll be sure to ask her when we get home.”
“Fuck fancy fork rules,” I snap. “We’re all going to be nice because we aren’t stupid.” I shoot Luca a serious look. “This isn’t survival through pride anymore; we have to be strategic.”
Luca narrows his eyes.
I roll mine. “I know I sound hypocritical. This speech is as much for me as it is for you.”
“We need a list of priorities,” Ali adds.
“Priority one: shower.” My skin is coated in battle gore, and it feels even worse than it looks. “And finding a toothbrush.”
“Priority two: a watch schedule,” Malach murmurs.
I nod, shooting him a grateful smile.
Ciprian yawns. “Priority three: sleep.”
“Once we’re rested, we need to develop a portal plan,” Alistair says. “How to get there unseen and trick it into letting Luca through.”
Luca groans at the ceiling. “Light work.”
“That’s why we’re taking it one step at a time.” I plant my hands on his shoulders and march him into the bathroom. There aren’t any switches or light fixtures, only moody flickering orbs that float around the room as if they have minds of their own.
“Creepy.” Ali reaches out and pokes one. His fingers go right through it.
“They’re kind of romantic.” Ciprian winks at me as he bends to dig around in the recessed stone cubby and comes out with several bottles of liquid. “Toothpaste adjacent?”
“Give it to me,” Luca says.
Ciprian tucks the bottles into his chest. “I said it might be toothpaste adjacent. I’m not a witch. It could be poison for all I know.”
I hold my hand out, and Ciprian hands one over. I unscrew the lid and take a sniff. It’s not spearmint, but it’s close. “Toothpaste adjacent,” I say.
Luca dips his finger into the white goop and pops it in his mouth. “Tastes better than vomit.”
“A ringing endorsement,” Alistair mutters.
It takes half an hour for everyone to shower and get into bed. It’s a tight squeeze, but I’ll sleep better knowing they’re all within reach. Old me would be embarrassed by that. Was it only a few short months ago that I slept alone every night?
“I’ll take first watch,” I say, sitting in the middle with my back braced against the headboard. “I don’t have the energy to argue about it, but I’m too wired to sleep yet.”
There are a few grunts, then Ciprian squeezes in between my legs, resting his head in my lap. “Wake me when you’re tired.”
My fingers find their way into his hair. Stroking the silky strands is nearly as soothing for me as it is for him. He’s asleep in about sixty seconds.
The others drift off one at a time. Luca by my side, Alistair on the other, and Malach on the edge nearest the door. Tears of relief burn my eyes as I listen to their breathing even out. I’ve never heard a sound I like more.
The house remains quiet—quieter than most buildings I’ve been in. There are no creaks or groans of stretching floorboards. No air conditioning or heating units turning on or off. I hear nothing, except the occasional gust of wind, muffled by the mountain.
In the cool darkness, the chaos fades. It allows me to think. Really think. Logically—without the added noise of outside opinions and rogue emotions. And there’s only one question I want to answer: why the fuck is Riven helping me?
He was prepared to let monsters rip me apart in the arena. Gods, he sent me to my death with no expression on his face, then turned around and what? Changed his mind? It makes no sense. And now he’s risking everything to hide us.
It can’t be his conscience. Riven isn’t a good guy, and pretending otherwise isn’t just stupid, it’s dangerous. His footprints drip blood. He kills for a living and runs a monster prison where fighting to the death is mandatory.
A chill runs through me, and I tuck my toes under Luca’s leg.
Riven is cold—more shell and bone than flesh and blood—so why was he so warm when he put his body between me and that monster? And why did I feel safe?
Frustrated with my lack of progress, I put the Riven dilemma in a box and shut the lid. Next to it, growing into the side of my brain, is a living, seething vault.
It’s different from the rest of my mind, which I try to keep clean and organized—memories, thoughts, dreams, and ideas sorted neatly by usefulness.
My vault is dark and dusty and covered in cobwebs. It’s a sinister, dented structure with red, pulsing veins that throb and glow. The door is impregnable, unfeeling steel—thick enough to keep anything out. Or in.
I rarely acknowledge the vault.
Knowing it’s there at all gives it power.
Because I’m not the only one with the combination. And sometimes, when I least expect it, the vault opens on its own and forces me to peek inside.
Some memories are better locked away.
Once S’lach is dead, I’ll open the door, pull out the painful memories, set them on fire, and dance on the ashes.
Then the not-so-bad ones—Mom’s laughing face and gentle hands—will breathe again.
Without the stain of his presence, I’ll be able to take them out and hang them on the walls of my mind like the art in my apartment.
I won’t need the vault anymore, but for now, it’s the best I can do.
Ciprian links his fingers with mine and brings my hand to his lips. It’s only then that I realize his breathing isn’t deep or even anymore.
“Did I wake you?” I whisper, forcefully turning away from the vault. I have everything I need right in front of me. I need to leave the past where it belongs.
“Not you,” he says. “Your fear.”
I wince. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Ciprian sits up and wraps his arms around me. “You never have to be sorry. Not with me.”
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I nod. I can do this. I can let him hold me. I can lean on his strength without it making me weak. And when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be stronger because of it.
I wake to the rumble of angry voices.
“You’ve got to leave without me. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“If you say that again, I’m going to smother you with a pillow.”
“Casanell’s right. You’re wasting time and energy every time you bring it up.”
“Think of Celine, you’ve got to get her out of here.”