Chapter 5 | Sephania
Sephania
The smoke is thick and black as we exit Tymon’s chamber, leaving Aelin to stand there in stupefaction. In the hazy hall outside, trouble awaits.
Four vampire guardsmen stand in the hall, two abreast, with their swords drawn.
They are stern, pale men, with deep frowns.
Their bodies are tight, constricted, the muscles of their frames flexed and waiting for us to emerge.
They don’t look like standard commonbloods, with their leather armor and studded cloaks.
Though they are poised to strike, they don’t move to act against us when we emerge in the hall. Skartovius is the first to show himself from the smoky room, with the rest of us behind him. It is Skar who the foursome eyes.
“Men,” Skar grumbles. “Stand down.”
“What happened in there?” one of the guards asks.
Screeching comes from the room. Aelin appears in the doorway a second later, pointing at us, yelling, “They murdered your lord, soldiers! Don’t let them escape! Hold them until Overlord Aramastun can—”
I spin, cock my arm back, and punch Aelin directly in the face.
She drops like a sack of stone, but not before Lukain catches her, eyes me judgmentally, and gently lowers her so the baby in her womb isn’t wounded.
I shake my pained knuckles out—I think I struck a tooth—and seethe. My mates give me a sidelong glance before facing the four guards.
Punching out annoying boys and dangerous men is my favorite thing to do, but I’m not against knocking out women if they overstep or pose the same danger. It’s just not very common. Even though I used to know Aelin, she’s no longer in my good graces. She never was.
Plus, it was a knee-jerk reaction at the sound of her accusatory, shrill voice. I feel no shame for sacking that pregnant predator.
“Judging by the smoke wafting after you, Lord Ashfen, I imagine Lady Aelin is not lying,” says the vampire guard. He seems strangely at ease considering the situation and the fact his lord is a pile of gray snow in the other room.
“She is not.”
“Why have you killed Demilord Aldion?”
Not only at ease. Civil, too. It’s odd to see from a vampire—and one with a sword in his hand, ready to use, no less.
“Because he tried to kill Lady Lock. That’s something we do not permit.” Skar leans forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Consider that a warning, soldier.”
“You’ve never been the threatening type, my lord,” the vampire says. “More of the action type.”
Skartovius shrugs. His auburn mane bounces on his shoulders. “I’m a bit frazzled from the night I’ve had.”
It might be the truest statement Skar has ever uttered. And also the biggest understatement.
Silence falls. I can hear the crisping embers of once-upon-a-Tymon in the room, and soft snoring from Noblewife Aelin on the floor. What a pair they make.
The standstill continues.
“I bear no ill will for Tymon’s soldiery,” Skartovius says. “Only the man himself, for his treachery. Did you know of his plans to send an assassin after Sephania?”
Their lives ride on the answer.
The guard gives a wise response, curtly shaking his head. “We would have charged in had we known the specifics. Figured you had a reason to be in there, seeing as Demilord Aldion was your ally for so many years. So we waited.”
“Until we crisped him?” Garroway asks from the side, tilting his head. “Interesting strategy.” He ducks when Skar shoots him a withering glare.
Skar says, “You’re telling me you waited and did nothing outside these doors . . . because of your curiosity? You would have fought against Tymon had you charged in?”
The guardsman clenches his jaw. His three comrades adjust their footing, seeming awkward. When it’s put like that, they don’t appear to be very good soldiers. Or guards.
Finally, the vampire lets out a sigh, and his shoulders relax.
“We four have fought alongside you for two decades, at Tymon’s behest, my lord.
You may not know our faces, but we are just a few of the many swords in your arsenal, your coven.
Your court, and everything you did, was not only made up of high-born noblebloods. ”
“I daresay it wasn’t,” Skar murmurs. His voice sounds clipped, as if he didn’t realize he actually had support outside of the vampires who attend his shadowgalas. Men like these soldiers.
It’s a shock to all of us, honestly.
The guards steps aside, creating a tunnel for us to traverse down the hall past them.
“If you go to the basement of this castle, you will find the corpses of five of our comrades. One of the soldiers—the one crucified against the back wall—was a bloodthrall to Aramastun Wyvox. He couldn’t keep his silly mouth shut about what was going to happen to you. ”
Garro steps forward. “So you did know what was happening in there.”
“Not the specifics, dhampir. Like I said.”
I blink between my mates and these four hardened warriors. Skar’s brow is furrowed. He’s still in a state of confusion, it appears, that something is actually going our way. Could be a trap, of course. Wait for us to walk by and then stab us in the sides when we’re closer.
I consider myself a fair judge of character, however, even with vampires involved. Especially with vampires involved. And I don’t believe it’s a trap. So I take the lead and walk forward, instantly inciting my mates to follow in my footsteps.
As we pass the soldiers, the stuffiness of the smoke and proximity to the guards hemming us in abates. Skartovius turns around and we all stop. “Why are you helping us, soldiers?”
The lead guard puffs his chest out. “Not everyone believes the overlords have our best interests at heart, Lord Ashfen. Some of us believe in the promise you told at Manor Marquin. The promise of a new order in Olhav, free from the confinement of the Five Ministries.”
Skar clears his throat. He’s incapable of voicing his gratitude, and I want to pat him on the shoulder to tell him it’s okay to feel grateful to honest, loyal fighters.
My hand hovers near his shoulder . . . and I yank it back. The action pulls my heartstrings. Skar’s lie to Lukain has soured our connection and closeness, and I can’t bring myself to show him any kindness right now. He can’t think I’ve so easily forgiven him, when I haven’t.
The soldier gives Skartovius a solemn salute, thumping his fist against his chest. “You have allies, Lord Ashfen. They may be scattered, they may be few and far between. All you need to do is find them.”
I did not expect a stranger—an enemy’s personal guard—to voice the trajectory of our mission so succinctly for us. But here we are. Find our allies, whatever nooks and crannies they’re hiding in.
We leave Tymon’s castle without another word or thought, leaving carnage and death in our wake. Not only Tymon’s death, but also a widow, fatherless children, and a handful of dead soldiers killed not by our hand but by our mission. Our cause.
Outside in the gloomy forest, the sky is slate gray.
Vallan peers heavenward. “Sun will rise in an hour.”
“Then we travel for two,” Skar says, and I imagine he’s speaking in hyperbole, since doing that is the quickest way to turn our company into the same pile of ash we left upstairs in Tymon’s castle. “We can’t let Aramastun’s army gain on us. We’ve already done that by wasting time here.”
I crunch over dried leaves and damp roots, kicking a bush for no reason. “If we have to rest for daylight, so does Aramastun’s army.”
Garroway chuckles at my logic, which makes Skar stew.
Lukain says, “Have we given more thought as to where we’re going? We’re still traveling north. Eventually, this mountain will end. Are you jumping us off a cliff, brother?”
Garroway laughs again, louder this time.
Skar pushes him. “Shut up, graybird.”
“I didn’t say anything, Master.” There’s a wide grin on Garro’s face. He loves seeing arrogant Master Skar put in his place. Almost as much as I do.
“The guard says we need to find our allies. I intend to do that,” Skar says. “Starting with the closest ones.”
Vallan grunts, shaking his head. “Demilord Aldion was a supposed ally, brother.”
“We quickly struck him off the list. What’s your point?”
“Is it smart to waste our time slashing off allies to enemies one at a time?”
Skar snorts. “Let me do the scheming, brother.”
His words annoy me. I tense up. When I’m angry at a mate, the Brat Princess makes herself known, and I can’t stop it.
I slap Vall’s big beautiful ass and earn a gratifying twitch from him.
“You’re talking to the man who cooked up a months-long scheme that resulted in the death of Overlord Barnabac Craxon.
None of us made that happen. Not even you, Skar.
Maybe you let us all scheme, because I’d say Vall is quite good at it, and certainly cunning enough for it. Speak your mind, my big brute.”
When Vall frowns at me through his beard and mutters, “Thank you, silverblood,” I beam at him.
Despite how the evening ended, I won’t soon forget that torrid session we had in the random storage closet of the castle a few hours ago. He’s still imprinted inside me, and Vallan will be front-of-mind for many, many days to come.
“Very well, little temptress,” Skar says, feigning sweetness. Judging by his tone, he’s hardly able to contain his exasperation. “Do tell us what you have in mind, Lord Vallan?”
Now Vall looks embarrassed, and I roll my eyes. These vampires are ridiculous sometimes. “I only wish to know where we’re going, so I can plan accordingly,” he says, ducking under a high-hanging branch that no one else has to duck under. “Don’t keep secrets from us, brother.”
“Yes,” I echo brattily, locking eyes with Lord Ashfen. “Don’t keep secrets from us, love.”
Now it’s Skar’s turn to roll his eyes. “We’re going to another keep. Another acquaintance of Sephania’s. First, we find shelter for the day once we’ve put more distance between us and Aramastun. There. Is that adequate?”
I give him a ridiculous faux bow, twirling my wrist in front of me.