Chapter 45 | Sephania
Sephania
Before leaving the Grimsons, and after a heartfelt goodbye to poor Old Endolf in his alchemy room, Garroway and I survey the situation in the greater Firehold.
Rirth sits in the main eating hall, with countless Grimsons and Grimdaughters lavishing praise on him. Never a man to boast accolades, he takes it all with a hearty nod, keeping his face down.
As I enter the room with Garroway, I see fighters saluting him. “We will gladly join your Silverknight revival, sir. If you’ll have us.”
“We wouldn’t have beaten back the vampires if it weren’t for you,” says another.
The girls of the Firehold bat their lashes at him and heap him with molten smiles, causing the short man to flush, but he doesn’t return their advances. I know Rirth has others on his mind—others who attract his attention more than these flimsy waifs.
He sees me coming, a frown on my face, my body nicked and bruised from the battles we’ve faced.
Garroway is directly over my shoulder, and I look angry as can be because I am.
Skartovius never arrived. Vallan only made it down into the tunnels by the end of the battle.
Old Endolf is dead, as well as close to a dozen Grimsons—I passed many of their bodies moving through the halls on the way here.
And worst of all, my mother is gone. Again.
To say I wasn’t feeling very celebratory would be an understatement.
Rirth stands when he sees me, nudging his chin in my direction, which causes countless eyes to veer over at me. They are eyes I mostly don’t recognize—new pacifist Grimsons that would make Lukain sick for how Antones has trained them, as well as a few of the older guard.
“Our defense would not have been a success without the aid of Sephania Lock,” Rirth says.
My eyes squint as people run over. Their voices mingle as one, a thread of praise and conversation I can’t listen to right now. I keep my gaze stuck on Rirth, understanding what he’s doing. Passing off the attention to me, whether he thinks I deserve it or not. Anything to get it away from himself.
I wish we could go back to the way things were when we trained together. When Rirth taught me special tricks to advance my skills, honing my footwork, and I showed him scrappy combat maneuvers he’d never known.
But that was before Culiar. Before he became reborn as the illustrious “Silverknight” and sought to start a revolution with the silver dagger I gifted him as the symbol of that revolt.
Soon, Rirth will have an army on his hands. He will be no different than our slavemaster leader, Master Lukain, and the cycle will continue.
Except this time, I had no doubt Rirth would be bringing his brand of justice up to Olhav. When the time was right—in his mind—I would meet him on the battlefield again. And he will be an enemy. Like he was just a few days ago when I ran into him with Skartovius trying to escape this damned city.
Garroway manages to keep most the hangers-on from crowding me too badly as I make my way over to the Silverknight.
“Where is Antones?” I ask. “Did he live?”
Rirth nods. “In the infirmary. Broken arm, scuffed up backside, but nothing more. He’ll live.”
“Good. Old Endolf is dead.” Rirth already knows it because he was there, but the rest of the Grimsons clearly don’t. I can tell by the way the line of chatter ceases, solemn silence taking over.
“Will you stay here?” I ask Rirth.
He shakes his head gravely. “The Firehold is no longer my place. My place is on the Floorboards, where my comrades wait for me.” He reaches out and pats a man’s arm. “Truehearts willing, we’ll be greeting more comrades aboveground before long.”
I clench my jaw. Study his handsome face, which seems drawn these days. He’s gaunter, his shorn hair making him seem smaller. Yet there’s a fierceness in his eyes—a clear-eyed resolve that was lacking when I found him drinking away his sorrows in the taverns.
“Protect these people, Rirth.” I scan the room of Grimsons—the younglings, the aging group, the newcomers. “If Antones is unable, they will need champions. Can your Silverknights provide that?”
“If they’ll follow me into the sun, then yes.” He sighs, taking a seat at an eating bench, facing outward. “But we can no longer hide away in the darkness down here while our city is trampled. Those days are over, Sephania.”
“I know, old friend.”
“The vampires must pay.” His eyes glare at Garroway, who stiffens at his words. “The flesh-traders, the slavemasters, any humans causing other humans suffering in Nuhav . . . they too must meet justice.”
“Yes.” My voice is clipped. He knows my opinion on this, and I can’t simply tell this entire group that I’m in love with the men he wants to kill.
“Give Antones my regards,” With that, I turn to leave.
“Where will you go?” he calls after me.
I slowly turn. “I will return to Olhav to find Spymistress Alacine Mortis. She was the skilled female vampiress who killed Old Endolf. A major leader of the vampires in the mountains. I will find her, kill her, and return my mother to her lover.”
My words brook no argument. I say as fact, because it’s the only thing I can accept at this point.
Rirth stands. He salutes me, placing the silver dagger against his chest. “You fought this Spymistress well. Give the fiend hell enough so she won’t ever forget you. Perhaps, in the future when you come to your senses, we can join forces.”
I scoff, giving Rirth a humorless smile. “Don’t hold your breath, old friend. I may never come to my senses.”
I return to Manor Marquin with Garroway and Vallan, utilizing the carriage in a much more measured roll than the breakneck speed we used to get down here.
Vallan is slightly wounded but quickly healing. I give him a smattering of Loreblood to spur his recovery, and Garroway asks him questions about his fight with the five vampires aboveground. Apparently, it took some time, but none of them escaped the man’s bloodrage.
Once we’re safe in the halls of Marquin, I go looking for Skartovius—
And stumble across the first body in a downstairs hallway. It’s an Intelligence Ward soldier, gray-cloaked and all. Three acolytes are wrapping his body in a tarp to bring outside.
On other levels and in other rooms of the place, white-robes are cleaning up whatever mess happened here. Of course, I can’t ask the damned acolytes because they’re mute. One of the servants is even sweeping up ash in a hallway upstairs.
Then I find Palacia, sitting where I left her in her bedchamber. She looks at me with huge eyes unblinking, unnerving. “Master Lukain came, Mistress.”
My jaw flexes, teeth grinding together. “He did? Why?”
Palacia shrugs. She lifts her legs from where they dangle over the edge of the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. She looks even smaller when she does that—truly miniature.
“Lord Ashfen fought him. I was transported outside to the acolyte tent after Lord Ashfen told me to run from Lukain. I didn’t imagine my master would want to hurt me, but I think I was wrong. ”
I put a hand on her head, gently rubbing, and smile at her. “How anyone could ever want to hurt you, I’ll never know, Pala.”
“Even as a vampire, Mistress? Even when I ache for blood on a constant basis? I don’t know if I can do this forever. Forever is a long time.”
I croak a laugh. I’m not feeling very mirthful, but leave it to her to force something out of me. “We’ll figure it out together, love. Now, where is Lord Ashfen? He has a debriefing to report.”
“In his study, where he fought Master Lukain.”
With that, I leave the girl alone to her woeful thoughts. I can only hope things get easier and better for her as time goes on. She’s shown no interest in joining the Chained Sisters like Sister Cyprilis did. And it might be for the best, considering the madwoman Cyprilis has turned into.
Skartovius Ashfen waits in his study, hunched over his chair and writing on a page. His head lifts and he rises to his feet.
Skar closes the gap in an instant, the heat of him rushing to greet me as his body collides into mine. His arms wrap around my neck, pulling me close, tucking my head against his shoulders.
I let out a small sob, feeling all the pent-up frustration and anger of the evening boiling over as he holds me. “We lost her, Skar. Alacine took my mother.”
“I know, love. Garroway told me.”
I pull back, sniffling, and wipe my snotty nose with my forearm. “Palacia says Lukain came here. I’ve seen all the bodies. What in the Damned happened while we were gone, Skar?”
I feel quite guilty now about Skartovius not showing up to the Firehold like he’d promised. It seems extenuating circumstances kept him back.
“It was a two-pronged attack. While Alacine’s group attacked the Firehold, Lukain hoped you would be left behind here, so he could easily snatch you up. Instead, he found me. Unfortunately for him.”
“Did . . .” I gulp past my tightening throat.
“No, little temptress.” His voice is gentle as he caresses a soft thumb across my chin. “I didn’t kill the dhampir. In fact, I left him with some literature.”
Lines form above my brow. “What?”
He chuckles, sitting on his chair, and pats his knee.
I sit on his lap and he pulls me against him. “Don’t bother yourself with that right now, love. I heard you fought Alacine Mortis and lived to tell the tale.”
“She has your power, Skar. The woman is a frightful menace, flipping between shadows like a ghost. She killed Old Endolf before stealing my mother away into one of the shadows.”
“The alchemist? Does that mean we have no means of concocting the silverblood tincture you so badly want?”
My shoulders rise. “I don’t know. Unless my mother has retained some of the knowledge. And that’s assuming Alacine keeps her alive.”
“Right.” His lips firm.
“I want to go into the Intelligence Ward to retrieve Jinneth, Skar.”
“I know, love—”
“But I also know that’s what Alacine is expecting me to do. I can’t keep running into her traps. I understand that now. I’ll only end up in Sutlis Spire again, I fear, or worse.”
His lip curls. “You’re learning our duplicitous ways, Sephania. I know it isn’t easy. We will get your mother back. I assure you.”
“How? How can you promise that?”
“Give it a little time. Lukain coming here was not for naught. I . . . can’t speak anymore on it. I prefer him to tell his story when he’s ready.”
I tilt my head, feeling more confused than ever. “Why the sudden soft spot for Lukain Mortis? Earlier, you couldn’t wait to kill him.”
My mate lets out a heavy sigh, inhaling through his nose.
“Just as you’ve learned some things, love, so have I.
And one of the things I’ve learned is that no matter how much I try, I cannot make you hate that dhampir.
You want to love him . . . and I believe he wants to love you.
I cannot stop that, so I’m not going to try anymore. ”
I kiss him lightly then, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. So many things are unresolved, so many problems afoot, and yet all I can think about in the moment is wrapping my body around Skar’s.
“Thank you, Skartovius,” I whisper.
My head nestles into his neck. My body grows warm to his touch. I’m ready to put my reservations on hold and ride this hung bastard while he sits here, if he’ll have me, because my body is becoming hotter, my center molten—
And then the door to the study rudely opens.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything, lovebirds,” Garroway mutters as he sticks his head in.
Skar chuckles. Over my shoulder, he says, “Of course you are. I’m sure our temptress would love for you to join, though. Where’s Vallan? Get the big brute in here too—”
“Well, you see, that’s why I’ve barged in like this.”
Skartovius’ rare exuberance ends in an instant. I feel his body harden beneath me, and not in a good way. Over my shoulder, I blurt out what I know Skar is thinking: “What the fuck are you talking about, cub?”
Garroway hangs his head. His shoulders slump, and the dhampir seems close to . . . depressed. Anxious? I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him like this before: not quite submissive, but reticent and cautious.
Slowly, I stand from Skar’s lap. This seems serious, so he stands also. Together, we walk toward Garroway.
I gasp when I notice twin bloody tears spilling down his eyes. “Garro?!” I cry out, gripping his hand in mine.
“I’ve just . . . I’ve just finished . . .”
Skartovius, usually prickly and demanding to his bloodthrall, puts a calming hand on his shoulder. “Take your time, cub. What ails you? What is this about Vallan?”
“I’ve been suspicious, you see?” He looks up at us at last. “About where he’s been stealing off to.
And I, I just finished beast-charming. He’s gone from here, you know.
Again.” Garroway’s voice grows thicker, meaner.
His brow furrows with anger. “I beast-charmed a bat and followed him as close as I could, as far as I could.”
Skartovius speaks slowly then, enunciating every word. “Where. Did. Vallan. Go?”
“To the Military Ward, Master.” Garro sniffles, heaving a great sigh as his bloody tears wash away and resilience and resolve take over. “I followed Vallan to Castle Galfeld in the Military Ward.”
“Home to Overlord Barnabac Craxon,” Skar murmurs breathlessly.
“Vall’s master,” I croak.
Garroway nods. “And so soon after our battles here and in Nuhav? It can’t be coincidence. I think . . . I believe Vallan Stellos has . . .”
My heart seizes in my chest. I don’t need him to finish his sentence because I’ve had similar suspicions—suspicions I knew were foolish, which was why I never pursued them. It can’t be. I can’t handle another heartbreak—not so soon after my mother! Not one of this magnitude.
I recall Vallan’s words then, after just meeting the curmudgeonly brute. “Skar may tell you to trust him, silverblood, but I will do no such thing. You can’t trust a monster born in the dark”—
Just as Garroway finishes his thought, damning us all.
“Vallan Stellos has betrayed us.”