Chapter 39 | Sephania
Sephania
“You did what with her?!”
Iron Sister Keffa is understandably furious. I wince at her outburst, seeing an unshakable wrath on the kind, nurturing old woman’s face for the first time.
I now see why she is called the Iron Sister.
Feeling small and meek, I eke out, “She . . . made us leave her behind.”
“And you let that stubborn old cow do it? Lock herself away in a dark, smelly dungeon while she works on True-knows-what?” She throws her skinny arms up.
Stubborn old cow? A hell of a thing to call your lover, angry or not. The same stubbornness my mother harbors flares inside me, defiant. “We had no choice, Keffa! Palacia could not get through a shadow portal unconscious—”
“I don’t give a shit about your ill-begotten friend!”
I recoil, flaring my nostrils. “You don’t mean that. You care about every girl—human, vampire, dhampir, interfolk. Besides, Jinneth correctly said she would slow us down. We almost died, even without her.”
“We did not,” Skartovius replies behind me in a bored tone. “Not even close.”
I shoot him a glower. “Not helping!”
Keffa paces in the main room, ironically standing beneath the oversized naked picture of my mother hanging on the wall. I can’t bear to look at it right now—or ever, if I’m being honest. What did Skar say about turning vampires plucking out their own eyes?
There’s an audience in here, to make things worse. At least ten of the destitute Sisters watch our back-and-forth, eyes wide, voices silent. No one is willing to try and calm the Iron Sister. Only Mother Jinneth can do that.
Twirling her wrist above her head, Keffa yells, “Arm up, Sisters. We’re going to get Jinneth back.”
I pump my palms at her as she tries to pass, blocking her path. “Keffa, please, think this through!”
“I may be old,” Keffa snarls, “but I still have fight in these bones, young lady.”
Skar takes up behind me. “Sephania is right. I can’t let you sacrifice yourself for nothing.”
She looks him up and down. “You would stop me, nobleblood?”
With a sigh, Skartovius gives a pained nod. “You are one of the only humans I appreciate in this world, Iron Sister. So yes, I would. Because you’re too important to the other Sisters here. Jinneth is in no jeopardy.”
“How can you be sure?”
“For all I hate about the Grimsons, they are strong. For humans. Resilient. The aging man Antones was always a firm lieutenant behind Lukain, and he knows how to fight. That, and they are well-hidden underground.”
I’m shocked by his frank appraisal of the Grimsons. I’ve never heard Skar string so many compliments together, even if some of them are backhanded.
“Your stubborn old cow and the elderly alchemist need time to work on Sephania’s blood,” Skar continues. “Otherwise this is all for naught. Sephania will not survive freeing the masses as she did Sister Cyprilis.”
“We don’t even know if it will work,” Keffa answers. Her response is subdued now, less bite to it. Skar is begrudgingly starting to sway her opinion.
The longer we keep her here, the more her wrath will subside.
She wheels, and the lines of her weathered face make me stutter back.
Her white hair flurries around her face as she points a gnarled finger at my chest. “I am disappointed in you, child. You promised to bring Jinneth back safely.” There’s true sadness in her eyes now, stealing away the rest of her anger. Her voice is throaty and thick with it.
Do you forget I rescued my mother for you in the first place?
That my mates and I are the only reason Jinneth is here at all?
I put my hands on her bony shoulders, staring her in the eyes.
“I will return her, Iron Sister. I have not vacated my promise. Jinneth will return. The timetable is simply further out than I realized.”
I hope it’s enough. It’s going to have to be.
Vallan stomps down the stairs, blessedly drawing some eyes away from the melee in the main room.
I notice how Sister Lyroan, the girl who hates me and wishes I would let her “fair prince” go, tenses at the sight of the massive man.
“Gifts are deposited to Sister Cyprilis,” he announces.
His head tilts when he notices all the slack faces staring at him. “What did I miss?”
“Excellent,” I interject, then bound past him to head upstairs—anything to get away from Keffa before she breaks down or smites me where I stand.
When I push into Cy’s room with a smile, the reek of death and decay greets my nose and freezes me in the doorway. “Oh, graceless fucking martyrs.”
Cyprilis has found it necessary to place each of the severed heads on each of the four posters of her bed, with the slack faces pointed at her, like the impaled heads are watching over her or carrying on a conversation only she can hear.
To top off the gruesome sight, Cy beams at me when I enter. There’s a crazed look in the frail vampiress’ red eyes. “Thank you for bringing me my friends, Sister Sephania.”
My mouth drops. “F-Friends, Cy?” Vampirism has truly changed her into a madwoman.
She has fallen a long way since we ate fruit together on the balcony overlooking the Nuhavian bazaar, when she planted that innocent kiss on my cheek.
If I had thought, or hoped, Cyprilis held an iota of humanity in her body still, all that is tossed out the window when I stare at this macabre spectacle.
The newly minted Chained Sister nods diligently at me. “With their heads detached from their bodies, they’re much friendlier. They can keep the ghosts away during the day hours while I sleep.”
“The ghosts?” I take a cautious step into the room. When I lean forward a few feet away, I think better of it from the spooky heads. “Has someone been, um, visiting you during daylight, Sister?”
Fear spikes inside me. Not again, I think.
“Only that handsome, pale mirage, every so often. He never lays a hand on me though. He only has questions.” Cyprilis perks up. “Questions about you, mostly.”
My eyes bulge in shock. “What does this handsome man look like, Cy?”
“He has a scar across his collar, running slightly up his neck. A smooth face other than that, darker than a vampire’s, but not by much. Half-blood, if I had to guess.”
My heart thrums against my chest. The scar he was given by Skartovius’ silver sword. Lukain! Fuck, Cyprilis has been his source of information about me!
Cy notices the twitch of my jaw, the concern written on my face. “Have I done wrong by you, Sister Sephania?”
I shake my head diligently. “No, love. You haven’t.” I give her a small, weak smile. I’m not sure what to do with this information, or if I want to stop Lukain at all.
A voice startles me from my thoughts. “Well, this won’t go over well with the Iron Sister. Or any of the Sisters.”
I glance back at Skar, frowning as he examines Cyprilis’ head-fort she’s made for herself.
“Come, little temptress,” he says. “I’ve talked Keffa off the ledge. Let’s be off before she changes her mind and goes after your mother.”
Nodding, I turn from Cyprilis, but not before saying, “I’m glad to see you doing, uh, well, Sister. I’ll be back before too long.”
As I reach the door, she calls out, “Sister Sephania? Might I . . . have some of your blood? Just a taste?”
A sickly sensation ripples through my veins when I peer over my shoulder at her.
Skar puts a firm hand on my wrist, but I don’t need him to hold me back.
“No, I’m afraid not this time, Cy.” I offer her sad frown a kind smile.
“There is another friend of mine who requires my Loreblood more than you do right now. I’m sure you understand. ”
She nods glumly and I hurry out the room.
“The fuck are we going to do about her?” I hiss on the way downstairs.
Skartovius chuckles. “Exactly the opposite of anything she asks, love.”
He’s right. Truehearts know I couldn’t stand to store more of her twisted thoughts in my head.
I’m not feeling great about myself now that I’m on Iron Sister Keffa’s shit-list. I hope I don’t remain on that short list for long. She hates very few people in this world, and somehow I’ve managed to make myself one of them. Maybe I should have never dragged my mother down to the Firehold.
“She’ll get over it when Jinneth tells her you were only doing as she demanded, little honey badger,” Garroway says.
I’m back at Manor Marquin and have been for four days since meeting with Keffa to face my lambasting. The days have gone relatively peacefully, with Palacia’s screams turning into mutters, then whimpers, and eventually . . . moans.
The Awakening seems to be an eventful situation.
I made the mistake of walking into her room yesterday and stumbled upon the girl ravenously fucking both her hands with that huge hard thing between her legs, bucking her narrow hips wildly into the air with a bowed back, rattling the chains holding her to the bed.
I would have nightmares of those rattling chains for days. It turns out Pala wasn’t feeling very dead any longer. At least part of her was still very much alive.
I hurried out of the room before I could see too much, earning a harsh laugh from Skartovius, who explained, “One of the newfound expressions of her Awakening. No longer dying. This is the curious phase I mentioned. Irresistible, confusing urges.”
“You could have been more specific what ‘curious phase’ entailed!”
His smile irked me with how devious and attractive it was—how, after just witnessing Palacia’s self-care, his look heated my insides beyond belief. “Thought it would be humorous for you to find out on your own.”
I haven’t been back inside her room yet, and I don’t plan on it. Garro is outside the hall with me, trying to make me feel better about the Keffa situation. He pets a hand down my arm, sitting outside Pala’s room, drawing out a pleasant shiver from me. His tactics are working.
“Iron Sister Keffa is more bark than bite,” Garro says.
From down the hall, Vallan grunts in disagreement.
I’ve become accustomed to understanding the different timbres of grunts from the giant vampire.
This one is from deep in his chest, while others are closer to his tongue, or clipped short, or lower pitched.
He has a different grunt for every circumstance.
Watching Vall march across the corridor in all his splendor, with Garroway touching me, I can’t help but focus between Vallan’s muscled thighs, noticing the prominent mound there. I briefly—shockingly—remark on the one similarity he shares with that skinny, quaint vampirex in the room behind us.
The sharp scent of Vallan and remnants on his gloved hands tells me he’s just finished another explosion-making session in a separate room in the manor. Here, he has all the tools at his disposal and doesn’t have to shift between safehouses to get what he needs to make his weapons.
Vall says, “You have never seen the Iron Sister fight, cub. Do not underestimate her soft disposition and twig-like body. There is a reason she leads the Chained Sisters.”
Garroway blinks. “That would be a sight to see.”
“. . . Not if her prowess is used against me,” I mutter.
Vallan puts a hand on my head. He doesn’t rub like Garroway, or pet me like Skar, or give me praise which I so desperately seek in the moment. No, he simply rests his hand there and stands over me, as if that is enough to calm my soul.
Somehow, against all odds, it is. I look up at him with imploring eyes.
Through his beard, he says, “Here’s some fair news that might cheer you up, silverblood: Your halfkeeper ally appears to have finished her Awakening. By nightfall, she should be cognizant, and we can take her chains off.”
My head shoots up, excited. “Really? It’s finished?”
His nod is deep and encouraging. “She lives again.”
“Thank the True for that.”
“She’ll be thanking the Damned for it, before long.”
Whatever it takes. I’m just glad to be able to talk to my friend again, no matter what state she’s in—so long as I can avoid walking in on another urgent situation like I did yesterday.
Hopefully she’s gotten that out of her system, I think.
Though, knowing how vampires are, and being intimately involved with a few of them . . . I sincerely doubt it.