Chapter 50 | Sephania
Sephania
It’s well into the morning when I finally collapse and extricate myself from Lukain. We sleep in a tangle of limbs, naked, sweaty, content.
Come nightfall the following evening, I bathe in the calm river next to Manor Marquin with my newest mate by my side.
Then it’s time for business. Iron Sister Keffa is due to arrive this night to take Jinneth back to their home. I have some painful questions to ask my mother before she goes.
She is still bedridden when I poke my head into her bedroom. Oddly, it is Palacia sitting next to her, keeping my mother company and watching over her.
I can only hope my old friend has not gotten any ideas of bloodlust while Jinneth peacefully slept.
My mother looks much better tonight. She has been given clean clothes, and the soiled bandage at the end of her left wrist has been replaced by a fresh gauze. The bleeding of her stump has stopped, but that doesn’t stop me from grimacing at the sight of her amputated hand.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, giving Palacia a nod and sending her on her way out the door.
“Of course it fucking hurts, girl,” Jinneth answers. She offers me a weak smile as she sits up against her pillows with a groan. “Less than it did, however. I suppose I’ll forget about it soon enough.”
I quirk my brow. “Forget about losing a hand, Mother?”
She shrugs. “Alacine put it best, I suppose: I don’t need both.” Stretching her right hand and waggling the fingers into a fist, she smiles at herself. “Keffa will be pleased I’ve kept my good hand.”
A flare comes to my cheeks. “I, uh, don’t think I need to learn more about what that entails.”
Jinneth laughs, and I have to imagine it’s the first time she’s let out a sound like that in many days.
The silence that falls over us is heavy. She reaches out and gently places her hand on top of mine, patting my knuckles. “These vampires of yours are better than I believed. Cleaned me right up, they did.”
I hate to do it, but I say the words anyway. “I told you, Mother. You can’t judge all bloodsuckers with such a broad stroke.”
“I’ll keep doing it. The bloody ones are still my enemy.”
“And mine,” I answer darkly. “Most of them, anyway. Praise the True for two of their leaders being dead.”
“Sounds like the True had nothing to do with the deaths of those Ministers.”
“No, I suppose not. I was just on my way to question Skartovius about all that, but I wanted to see you off first.”
“And?” My mother knows me well and can see the question biting at the tip of my tongue.
“And . . . I have to know, Mother. The silverblood tincture?” I lean forward, wincing. “Is it . . . lost with Old Endolf’s death?”
Jinneth gains a distant expression as she turns her head and stares at the pulled curtains of the nearby window.
She lets out a sigh. “Poor Endolf. Didn’t deserve half the life he was given.
” There’s true sadness in her voice. It hurts to hear.
I know she respected the man she once called friend, and that he had an unrequited love for my mother—so fierce, in fact, he protected her with his life. To the very end.
She faces me then, determination written into every line across her face. “It is not lost, Sephania. I watched Endolf work every step of the way. It can be recreated.”
My heart sings at this news and I take in a deep breath, gathering the air in my lungs. “Then my mission is not a failed one. Yet.”
“It’s not, daughter.” Her brow creases. “Do you truly believe it can be done? That you can reshape the minds of so many soulless beings—turn them human again?”
I don’t want to crush the sheer wistful yearning on her face. The truth is, I have no fucking idea. So I give her a small smile. “That’s why we must test the elixir. See if it truly works. But I’ll keep craving this dream, even it’s a far-fetched one.”
I squeeze her hand in mine, smiling down at my mother.
She looks weaker now, older, her dark hair slightly grayer at her scalp.
After living a live of imprisonment, much like me, she has seen no respite.
I have to keep her safe from the vampires who would end us—the bloodsuckers we’re fighting against. It’s the only way I can be content with what I’m doing: If I know the ones I love are safe. Otherwise, what is it all for?
Standing from her bedside, I say, “I love you, Mother.”
“And I love you, Sephania. I am glad to be within the walls of the living once more.”
With a cringe, I add, “Try to convince Keffa not to go too hard on me, eh? That woman scares me worse than Lord fucking Ashfen.”
I meet with Lord fucking Ashfen a few minutes after leaving my mother’s chamber. He finds me in the hall, saying, “I must tell you something, little temptress.”
There’s no anger or inflection to his tone. This could be the best news ever or the most harrowing tragedy possible, and I’d never know by the expression on his sinfully attractive face.
We walk down the hall at a leisurely pace, yet he doesn’t talk. I finally start to realize he’s struggling to say what’s on his mind. A knot has formed between his brow—the only sign of his consternation and hesitance.
Since he’s being like this, I fill the gaping void. “So Vallan did not betray us after all?”
“It appears not. He operated under the shadows for months, meeting his master when called upon. Suffering great . . . personal injuries, it appears. All while brooding in the background, in silence.”
“Brooding?” I flash a quick smile, lifting my eyebrows. “Sounds like another nobleblood I know.”
Skar ignores my barb, flipping lustrous auburn hair off his shoulder.
“He managed to turn the remaining Five Ministries against Barnabac Craxon, which led to the overlord’s bloody death.
Quite a feat, I must say.” With an inward snort, he adds, “And here I thought our curious giant was an oaf. Turns out he might be the most cunning of us all.”
“Does that pain you, love?”
“On the contrary, little temptress. We need all the help we can get if we’re going to finish off the other three Ministers. Let’s see if Vallan is up to the task of providing us with more brilliance when the next threat comes.”
I realize Skartovius has led me to his study downstairs.
His personal library. In the room, he takes a seat at his well-worn oak desk and pulls out the leather-bound journal he wrote for Lukain, to explain everything regarding their lamentable history.
To think, two of my mates are half-brothers.
That might complicate things a bit. I briefly recall my torrid session with Skar, Vall, and Garroway together, and wonder if such a thing would ever be possible with Lukain included. Time will tell, I guess.
Skar taps the dark cover of his journal. He struggles, again, to say something. “Speaking of brooding . . .”
When he trails off, I sit on the edge of the desk, crossing my arms, staring into his beautiful face. “What is it, Skar?”
He raises his head, throwing me a quick, faux smile. “I take it your evening with Lukain went as you had hoped.”
Heat swims inside me and I fall into a shy stance, glancing away from his piercing gold-red eyes. “You could say that.”
“That is good. Because I must tell you something about this . . . history.”
My gaze returns to him, brow furrowing.
“It is not entirely accurate.” With a sigh, Skartovius sits back. He crosses his arm, peering down at the tome like it’s an enemy of his that must be destroyed.
My heartbeat starts to thrum in my throat.
Skar says, “Don’t get too excited, love,” and sometimes I hate that he can do that—can tell when I’m worried, or aroused, or angry, based on the rhythm of my pulse alone.
“What are you trying to say?” I eke out, trying to remember every single word he wrote in that small book.
“You recall Lukain’s father?”
I nod. “Heskel Angul, last of the Silverknights. Well, the last one until Rirth showed up.”
Another smile. More hesitance. “Indeed. I . . . may have stretched the truth when I went to kill him.”
Lines fill my forehead as I slant my head. “How so?”
Skartovius lifts his gaze to mine, his blank expression unnerving in how difficult it is to penetrate. “Silverknight Heskel was not planning a revolt against his lover, Alacine. Our mother.”
My lips part. The thrum in my throat becomes a swiftly beating drum. “. . . Excuse me?”
“He was simply a tired old man, unconcerned with being turned into a vampire. I killed him anyway, to hurt my mother for what she did to me.”
“B-But—” I cut myself off, shaking my head.
My hand goes to my temple as my world swims and everything goes dizzy.
“No, you said he wanted to kill Alacine and Lukain, which was why you slayed him. Not out of brooding vengeance, but out of duty! That Heskel wanted to voice his uprising anew, even as an old man, to become a martyr for his people.”
“I lied.”
His simple words carve a hole in the pit of my stomach. My parted lips drop open completely as an all-too-familiar sensation fills me.
Betrayal.
My old friend, which follows me wherever I go.
Still confused, I shake my head decisively. Please tell me it’s not true. Not you, Skartovius.
“I had to give Lukain a reason, love,” he explains. When he reaches for my hand, I pull it back. Wincing, Skar nods, continuing his excuse. “We were never going to get close enough to Alacine Mortis to kill her. She was too powerful, her ward too strong. The only one who could possibly do it . . .”
I catch on as he trails off, my voice a cracking whisper. “. . . Was the son already closest to her, wrapped up in her web.”
Skar’s nod is absolute.
I try to understand it. I truly do. He’s right, in some sense—we were hopeless to stop their vile mother.