Chapter 8 | Sephania
Sephania
Once Vallan is gone, I pout, staring at the closed tent flap. “Well, that was a rather rude departure.”
Behind me, Garroway chuckles. I feel him closing the gap, his heat wafting toward me. “What was rude, little honey badger, was watching you kiss him so fervently without giving me a taste.”
Over my shoulder, I see him grinning inches away, his full lips close. I bob my eyebrows. “Someone jealous?”
He leans in and kisses me, cradling my chin with his deft fingers. “Of course I am.”
His violet-red orbs are a lighter tone than fullbloods. “Don’t worry, Garro, I’ve missed you as much as Vall.”
“Yet you went to him first.”
Truehearts, his jealousy runs deep. “Only because he was closest to the Chained Sisters. I didn’t even know where you were, cub.”
He tilts his head to kiss me again, embracing me from behind and pushing his lean body against my curves. “Calling me ‘cub,’ now, are you? Like Skar and Vall?”
“Well, you are as much my thrall as you are Skar’s, are you not? Since drinking from me?”
He hums lowly. “I suppose there’s some truth to that simplified explanation.” The hardness I feel when he grinds against me tells me everything I need to know.
I scoot back, teasing the half-blood by ghosting my touch across his chin as I depart. “Come now, I’ve defiled enough of this camp for one evening. Yes, I’m sorry you missed it, but I’d like to vacate the premises if it’s all the same to you.”
“Get me out of this dusty shithole.” Screwing up his features as he looks down at himself, he adds, “It’s terrorizing my clothes.” Garro takes my hand in his, squeezing, and puts aside his desires for something more innocuous. “Where would you like to go, honey badger?”
My lips pucker as I think and glance up at the dipping tarp of the tent—as if I haven’t had an idea in mind since first laying eyes on him in here. “I haven’t seen my friends in Nuhav since the botching of my public outing at Skar’s last shadowgala. I’d like to do that.”
A touch of sadness reaches his thin brow. “Sadly, lass, I don’t think they’re your friends anymore.”
“I fear you’re right.” My eyes glance to the door flap of the tent. Palacia said as much. “Still, I’d like to check. Would you accompany me, and act as my daring escort?”
“Last time we went into Nuhav together, Alacine’s assassins attacked us and we almost died.”
I give him a mock shiver. “Invigorating, wasn’t it?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “You always surprise me, lass.” Leaning to his side, he presses a tender kiss to my collar, which gives me a real shiver. “I would accompany you to the ends of the earth if you asked, little honey badger. So long as I get to follow you.”
His words reach deep, choking off my reply. I fight off the endearing sentiment and playfully bounce my eyebrows instead. “Submissive as ever, I see.”
We head for the tent flap. “Don’t tell Master Skar,” he whispers. “He’ll punish me.”
“And you’d love it.”
As he opens the flap for us to exit, Garroway shoots me a mischievous wink.
We make it through western Olhav, keeping out of the interiors of the Military and Commerce Wards since we aren’t fullbloods like Skartovius or Vallan, and aim for the southern pass through the Olhavian Peaks.
Once we reach the base of the mountain, nearing the high wall encircling Nuhav and the main gate leading into it, I begin to veer off the path to the woods, like we did last time we came here.
Garroway stops me, grabbing hold of my wrist. “Wait. I’d like to see something.”
My brow furrows in consternation as he leads me directly down the road. “I thought you disliked the gatekeepers because they’re nosy and don’t respect you like a fullblood.”
“This isn’t about me,” he says with another wink.
Reaching the gate, I feel nervous. It’s odd, feeling anxious about entering my home of so many years.
I’ve been mingling with the enemy of my people for so long now, I’ve practically made it my new home.
There’s an irony there—cold and worrying rather than warm and humorous—when I think too hard about it.
The vampire guard at the gate is hooded and looks at us as we approach. He stands directly in the middle of the closed bars, hand near his hip, poised to draw his blade.
“I’m not liking this, Garro . . .” My whisper cracks.
He rubs the small of my back, prodding me forward. “Steel yourself, lass.”
Once we get into the guard’s view, his eyes flash wider and he . . . steps aside. The pureblood gives me a curt bow, muttering, “Lady,” and then moves inside the gatehouse to draw the iron fence open.
We walk through without even stopping our stride.
I’m flabbergasted, staring forward because I fear he’ll recognize his mistake if I look over my shoulder at him. “Did he just call me Lady?”
Garroway chuckles. “You’re the Lady of Manor Marquin now, little honey badger. Remember?”
I blink wide at him, gawking.
He lightly slaps my ass as we continue down the road into Nuhav. “I suppose not everything went awry at your outing in Skar’s court, no? First human I can recall being able to pass so easily through the sister cities. You’re an important figure in Olhav now, thanks to our master.”
He’s your master, not mine, I want to say, shaking my head in disbelief. “Lady of Manor Marquin,” I recite, scoffing.
“Much better than Hellwhore or Bitch-Queen, eh?”
“It does ring more elegantly, cub.”
We weave our way through the city. There’s only about three hours of night remaining, so we’ll probably have to find somewhere to sleep in Nuhav unless we rush, and I don’t feel like rushing.
Traveling with vampires is not such an easy thing, I think blithely as we shuffle down the refuse-ridden streets of my old stomping grounds. The roads are practically empty besides the houseless folk, the stumbling drunks, and the shadowy vagabonds watching us from alleyways.
Even with feeling so many eyes on me from the dark patches, I have no fear walking these foul-smelling streets. It isn’t only because I have a strong fighter like Garroway with me; it’s also because I know I can fend for myself and outdo most humans who would try something against me.
Making a southerly path from the north gate, we walk tall, ending up in the district I know too well. We pass the ornate eyesore of the Temple of the True. From there, it isn’t difficult finding the grate and ladder that leads down into the Firehold, the old home and prison of my formative years.
Part of me wonders if it isn’t my incessant, frustrating memories of Master Lukain that brings me right to the Grimsons’ doorstep.
It’s like my boots moved on their own through these winding roads and bazaars.
It’s shocking to me that I once called this place my own, and these people my brothers and sisters.
There’s no one guarding the hidden ladder in the grate.
I descend into the earth first, Garroway swiftly behind me.
Once our feet touch the moldy, damp dirt of the underground, three people approach us with weapons drawn.
They look half my age and half my size, putting them at around ten to twelve summers old.
“Really?” I say with a frown, hands on my hips. I scold them like the children they are. “Antones has whelps guarding this tunnel, still?”
The trio shrink back, hands trembling on the handles of their rusty weapons. I notice it’s not the sight of such a tall woman scaring them—it’s the pale, ash-kissed appearance of Garroway as he hops down behind me.
“Go and fetch him, little grimmers,” I say, flapping a hand. “I want no quarrel with you.”
Their shoulders sag in unified relief and they scurry off. A few minutes later, the man in question arrives, alone. I figure the whelps told him who came calling—the tall Bitch-Queen—and he doesn’t feel a need for guards.
“Sephania,” Antones says with a formal bow. The thick brow on his aging face bunches together. “Or should I call you Lady Lock now?”
I roll my eyes. “Please, Ant, not you too. There are too many pet names to memorize as is.”
He shoots me a half-smile. It disappears quickly, concern clouding his features. “What brings you under the Floorboards, girl?”
“I . . .” Now that I’m here, the words are a struggle to say. I swallow my pride, trying to look valiant, respectable, and controlled as I cross my arms. “I’m here to speak with Rirth, Master Antones. It’s been months since I’ve seen my brethren. I know we left things on the wrong foot.”
Ant runs a hand over his square chin, scratching graying stubble at his jaw. His face betrays nothing. “I don’t think it wise for you to be here, Sephania.”
Anger flits through me, mingling with frustration. I clamp my jaw. “Palacia said as much. I found her in the North Mines in Olhav, Ant. Did you know that?”
“The north what?”
My shoulders sink. Of course. Most people have no idea the silver mines exist. It’s on the opposite side of the mountain. If they knew, humans would make every daring attempt to break into the camp and steal the ore to use against the bloodies. “Never mind.”
He studies me. His eyes vaguely flicker over to Garroway—remaining silent behind my shoulder—and then fall back on me. “Rirth has left the Firehold.”
“What?” I reel. “When? Why?”
He puts a palm out to slow me down. “A month ago. He took some of our best soldiers with him, the little shit. Left me with a band of gangly, snot-nosed pups from the Diplomats to look after. You just met three of them.”
My hard expression softens and I give my old friend a genuine smile. “Thank you for taking them in, Ant. I couldn’t stand to see them starve after Dimmon’s death, even if the rest of you think I’m a Hellwhore cunt bent on evil. They played no part in his wickedness.”
He dips his chin ever-so-slightly. “Of course.”
“Where did Rirth go?”