Chapter 17 | Sephania
Sephania
I linger around a small room with my mates, pacing, figuring out what we can do and what they went through to get the small portion of silver they arrived with.
Stopping cold on my feet, I twirl to Vallan. “You say you ran into Silverknights en route to Vanison?”
“And Bronzes. And citizens hanging Bronzes.”
“We managed to get away in the turmoil before we could witness the bloodbath,” Garro says from the corner. He seems to be hiding in the shadows. “Make no mistake though, little honey badger, it was a bloodbath. Humans killing each other, despite what color shiny armor they wore.”
My lips peel back in a snarl. “Over flesh-traders? How have the worst of the worst managed to get the upper hand in this situation?!”
Garroway taps his smooth chin. “I think it’s more nuanced than that.
You see, the citizens believed the Bronzemen they hanged were flesh-traders.
The Bronzes came to change their minds with steel.
The Silverknights, I think, arrived to defend them.
The citizens, that is.” His wrist circles and his brow furrows, looking like he confused himself.
“. . . And somehow our pale asses got sandwiched in the middle of it,” Vallan mutters.
“We ran into your old comrade,” Garroway announces. “Rirth.”
I stop pacing, going rigid. My eyes blow wide. “Shit.”
He puts up a hand to stop me. “He let us pass.” Then his hand lowers and his face twists. “He also told you to . . . what was the quote, my big brute?”
“‘Tell Sephania not to stick her nose where it’s not wanted.’ Something to that effect.”
Vallan’s words punch me in the gut, turning me into a hollow shell. He . . . said that? Maybe Jinneth was right. Perhaps Rirth has gotten too big for his britches. What kind of monster did I create when giving him that silver dagger and a glimmer of hope?
I shake my head, trying to act like the words don’t squeeze my heart in two and break me. Swallowing hard over a knot in my throat, I say, “We’ll deal with Rirth later. What’s clear is this: We have pockets of allies everywhere, which is good. They’re scattered, which is bad.”
Garroway slides off the wall. There’s a peculiar look on his face, roguish and regal.
“What?” I squeak.
“Go on, honey badger. I like when you get strategic.”
My left brow rises. “The strangest things turn you on, cub.” I wave my hands to try and ignore the lustful expression on his grinning face.
“Helget’s people in the northeast valley, Tymon’s soldiers south, the Chained Sisters here, the Gilded Ghosts in the Commerce Ward.
We need to congregate our forces. We need central leadership. ”
Vallan nods along, running a hand through his beard. His frame is entirely too large for the small chair he’s sitting on. It looks ready to crack under his weight. “Assembling our allies in a single space puts us in danger of being discovered by Overlord Aramastun. En masse.”
He’s right. I just don’t think it can be stopped. “The Night Judge will find us sooner or later, regardless. I’d rather we’re unified when it happens, not dispersed. We have a better chance with numbers.”
Garroway pouts. “Being apart gives us more fluidity to work with.”
My right brow rises this time. “Fluidity, Garro?”
He shrugs high. “Master Skar would probably say something like that. What I mean is, if our main force is crushed, we will still have pockets of allies to build reinforcements. The war won’t be lost in one fell swoop. Just the battle.”
“You’re assuming we lose the battle in the first place,” Vallan says.
Spirits and deities, I hate to think it, but like Garro alluded to, I wish Skartovius was here right now. He’s the strategist of the group. He’d be asking the right questions.
My thoughts drift to the half-brothers I sent away.
I hope he and Lukain are able to get things done—not just with Liolen Sesk and Zefyra, but also with each other.
Maybe, at the very least, being apart from me will make them realize their squabbles are pointless and I’m the only thing that matters to them.
I smile at the silly, narcissistic thought. I don’t actually believe I’m the—
“What’s that crazed smile for, lass?” Garroway asks.
His voice brings me back to the dark cave, and I quickly frown. “Sorry.”
“We’re undecided as to our next plan of action,” Vallan says with a customary grunt at the end of it. He sounds exasperated—or at least as frustrated as the stoic, quiet sentinel can be without falling into his bloodrage.
In an attempt to bring it full circle, I say, “One thing is certain,” which draws their rapt attention. “We’ll need Rirth on our side to win against the Three Ministries.”
“He wants nothing to do with you, lass,” Garro says quietly, ducking his head and fearing my reprisal. “He made that quite clear. I think the only reason he let us pass without more bloodshed was so we could deliver that message.”
I breathe deeply, hold it, and let the stress of our predicament out my nose slowly. “Then we need to make him realize he needs us as much as we need him.”
“Does he?”
“We’ll paint a pretty picture.”
Vallan mutters, “I can’t paint for shit.”
I roll my eyes.
An ample shadow takes space in the doorway, cutting out the flickering torchlight from the cavern hallway beyond. Jinneth crosses her arms, inspecting us. “Done colluding, you three?”
“Why, what’s going on, Mother?”
“While you’re discussing future plans, we need to talk about the present.”
I push off from the table to approach her. “I already promised we would get more silver reserves as swiftly as possible. We’ll need the True’s help to get in the North Mines though, if Aramastun Wyvox has taken it over.”
“I don’t know who that is, and I don’t care.
I’m not talking about the silver. Well, I am.
” She tilts her head, pulling at her chin and gazing around the crude stone walls of this damp residence.
“We need a bigger house. More room to produce the Silverblood once we do get the silver cache and Loreblood supply we need to scale this operation. Kep’s fucking basement won’t do. ”
I blink at her, because this ambitious businesswoman is not the woman I know. I can’t say I hate it.
“You can talk about allies and togetherness and the Silverknights all you want, dear daughter,” she continues, “but one thing is even clearer than that: Your victory hinges on the Silverblood. Without a vampiric army, the vampiric overlords are weak. Without the Chained Sisters, you have no Silverblood.”
It almost sounds like she’s threatening me to get what she wants, and I admire her audacity. With a small smile, I nod my head curtly. “You’re absolutely right, Mother. You deserve more elbow room to work.”
“Some True-be-damned chairs would be nice, too. Standing over potion dishes is awful for the back.”
Garroway chuckles behind me. I can feel him smiling, as my dour mother has somehow turned the mood of the room.
“An idea is already coming to me,” I say.
“Good. Then get to it, sweetheart.” She shoos me and turns to walk away.
“How is Cyprilis?” I call out before she can get too far.
I’m eager to learn how effective the Silverblood has been on our test subject. It’s shitty to think of Cy that way, but there’s no point acting sentimental over the truth.
Jinneth pauses in the corridor. Doesn’t turn. Then she slowly, agonizingly does. There’s a sad expression on her puffy face. “Same as ever, my dear. I don’t think the tincture took hold. We’ll need more experiments, more tests . . . which means we need to get started promptly.”
My jaw clenches and my heart sinks. Shit.
I hoped the first issuance of the potion would change the entire world.
Doesn’t seem to be the case. Unless we have to give it more time to work.
My thoughts darken. It’s been hours since she drank it though.
When anyone drinks directly from me, the impact is almost immediate.
It is immediate if we’re doing something strenuous, like fucking.
My mother doesn’t need to know all that. She’s already gone anyway, continuing down the hall.
Vallan lightly plants his fist on the table. “Dammit.”
“How can this be?” Garroway muses. “Is the tincture faulty? Was your surly alchemical grandfather mistaken in his crafting of the elixir, or Jinneth mistaken in the recreating of it?”
I plop my ass against the wall, leaning back and rubbing my temples with the heels of my hands. “I don’t know, Garro. And he’s not my grandfather, ass.” Opening my eyes, I sigh and stare at the opposite wall.
“Do you think it could be because Cyprilis has had your blood before, and therefore the tincture is weaker? The effect not as strong?” he asks.
“That makes no sense,” Vallan replies for me. “Anyone who drinks from Sephania wants—no, needs—more of her blood. Not less. Its impact only grows stronger the more Loreblood you drink.”
“At least for us.” Garroway doesn’t sound so sure. He massages his chin, ducking his head. “I have to wonder if she craves more of your Loreblood like the rest of us do, after drinking the potion version.”
“Why don’t we ask her?” Vall suggests. “The diluted formula not coming directly from the source—your veins—could have adverse effects on its efficacy.”
Ugh, a headache is beginning to build and pulse behind my eyes.
There’s no stopping it. I hate trying to get analytical when there are already so many thoughts swirling around in my brain.
“I don’t want to upset Cy by teasing her with more of my blood .
. .” I trail off, popping my head up from my hands.
“Could it be weaker because she’s already bound to me?
Perhaps the tether, or the severance, has nowhere to go? ”
Garroway pouts his kissable lips, pressing them together. “A fine thought, lass. How would the bloodbond break if she’s already bound to you—if it has already been broken and transferred to you?”
These are questions we have no hope of answering right now. They’re only making my headache worse.
I shiver and shake my body loose of the confining thoughts. “More tests are needed, like Jinneth said. Until then, we can be working on my plan to get the Chained Sisters a more spacious residence.”
“What do you have in mind, silverblood?”
I flash Vallan a smirk. “Kep isn’t the only one with an underground abode, my big brute.”
He blinks. His dark red eyes narrow. “Are you sending us away on another mission?”
“No. We’re all going together this time, love. Let’s go.”