Chapter 22 | Sephania
Sephania
The questions are endless: How did this happen—how did the assassins find us and perfectly ambush us?
How did Skar and Lukain find us, for that matter?
Can we trust the safety of the Chained Sisters with Aramastun Wyvox’s assassins now taking to the streets of Nuhav so brazenly?
Clearly they fear no one, and why would they when Nuhav is fractured and the Night Judge has an entire army on his side?
Why did Vallan’s bloodsight fail to react and show I was in mortal danger?
Or did he simply fail to get here swiftly enough on foot without a shadowgate from Skar?
Where the fuck did Keffa Caernyd learn to fight like a hellion of the Damned?
All of those questions can wait. None of us speaks until the Chained Sisters are safely deposited in the Firehold a few streets over.
Many of them are left weeping as they descend, as if they’re being shoved into a new box, a new cage with new chains.
They’re confused, losing sisters and mothers on the cold streets.
We bring the five bodies with us, and I recognize all of them—two of them by name.
My heart is colder than the mountain air these days. It’s been this way for a while, though I can’t pinpoint when exactly. I’m losing myself to the desperation of our mission and the constant setbacks that bring tears to our eyes and misery to our hearts.
I don’t know how much longer we can go on like this and keep the fight going. We haven’t even started the fight and we’re already dropping like leaves in fall.
In the Firehold, I take one look at Skartovius and Lukain and can see nothing has changed between them. I separated us for no reason, and it almost led to my death, foolishly.
Skar’s stiff gait, the aversion of his eyes when I try to meet them. Lukain’s blistering voice as he lambastes Vallan and Garroway for sleeping on the job when I was carousing the Chained Sisters. Those poor guys. It wasn’t their fault.
Antones helps the Sisters get acclimated to their new home.
At least the denizens of the Firehold, the Grimsons, seem accepting of the newcomers.
More unnervingly, I notice how some of the younger lads have slimy smirks on their faces as they eye the incoming ladies.
Staring at the new girls like fresh meat has arrived.
It makes my skin crawl and reminds me of the breeding issue this place faces.
Someone needs to teach these boys respect and affection.
They’ve never had mothers to care for, sisters to look after, and it shows in their base, feral personalities.
Maybe Jinneth can whittle their predatory behaviors away. If anyone can do it, she can.
After I’m bandaged up, we’re rushed away to one of the meeting rooms to discuss things, before anyone, Antones included, has even recognized Lukain Pierken’s return. The focal point for the Grimsons is currently on the Chained Sisters’ arrival.
In the room, I frown at Skartovius, wanting to give him thanks for saving my life but still feeling he’s on my shit-list until he comes clean to Lukain. I gave him the perfect opportunity and he fumbled it.
Then I notice absences. “Where’s Zefyra?”
Lukain abruptly stops fighting with Vallan and Garroway and looks over to Skar, surprising me. Deferring to the nobleblood, oddly.
“Back in Aramastun’s ranks as a spy,” Skar answers. “She’ll provide intelligence and should be useful, little temptress.” There’s tentativeness to his answer.
“And Palacia?”
His neck stiffens. He gives a sidelong glance to Lukain, and now I know something is up.
“Skar?” I question pointedly when he takes too long in answering.
His throat bobs. “She, erm . . . well, she decided to stay . . . with Overliege Liolen.”
I blink. My heart seizes. All conversations stop, eyes veering over to me. “. . . What?”
Skartovius looks nervous for the first time in his life. He takes a deep breath, gathering his courage, and nods deeply. “Palacia decided—on her own, mind you—that it was best if she stays behind as a hostage, to show good faith that you’ll return to Liolen Sesk.”
I swing.
The past few days have been too much. Assassination attempts, wild retreats through the countryside, hiding for our lives. Now the needless deaths of a handful of girls I made my mission to look after. The kidnapping of my friend is too much, and I snap.
My fist flies before I can stop it. There’s weight behind the punch, and it hits squarely in Skar’s chiseled jaw with a loud thunk, sending him reeling to the side.
A weaker man, a living man, would have been knocked unconscious from the blow.
Skar growls and rubs his face. “Suppose I deserved—”
Lukain steps between us, hands up. “It wasn’t Skar who made the decision—”
My next fist finds his face, and he yells “Fuck!” as he stumbles back.
“You motherfuckers lost my friend?!” My voice carries out of the room, down the hall, and I’m certain the entire Firehold can hear it.
I don’t give a shit. “You had two fucking jobs, you bastards!” I lift my fingers, one at a time.
“Find a way to get Liolen to help us, and learn to fucking get along like brothers and not betray each other!”
The words are out of me before I can stop them. They sit in the air, and I watch as Lukain’s brow furrows.
“Betray each other?” the dhampir asks, still massaging his chin. “What do you mean, little grimmer? How have we—”
“Never mind,” I snarl, turning away. I’ve said too much. I promised myself it wasn’t my right to voice Skar’s truths. He needs to find his balls and do it himself.
“We did find a way to get Liolen to help us,” Skartovius snaps.
The bastard is hardly even showing a bruise after how hard I punched him.
I recognize how nice it must be to be a vampire for the unblemished skincare alone.
“If you give them a taste of your Loreblood, they will give us access to the North Mines, to steal as much silver as we need.”
This gets Vallan and Garroway up in arms, who raise their voices at the prospect.
“You agreed to that, Master?” Garro wails.
“Sounds like a shit deal,” Vallan grunts.
I put my hands up and quiet them. It’s good to know I at least have two mates under my control. “You’re saying we get Palacia and endless silver for some drops of my blood?”
Skar’s face tilts left to right. “Drops might be selling it short. Liolen will want to drink enough to awaken whatever bloodline powers they have. But . . . yes. That’s the gist of it.”
“Why didn’t you fucking lead with that?” I guffaw. “Done.” It doesn’t even take a second thought. Again, reckless.
Vallan is the first to note it. “Hold on, silverblood—”
“No. We’ve been holding on long enough, Vall. Our fight with Aramastun needs to start. You saw what he sent after us today!”
His gloved hand lowers. There’s still an ocean of blood covering his body from the assassin he cut in half. So, yes, he understands. “True.” He takes a step back. “I retract my resistance.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.” I turn to leave the room, to get ready for the trek back to Olhav. At least Skar should be able to portal us to the Commerce Ward, now that he’s been there, and it seems like I’ve successfully diverted his and Lukain’s attention from the “betrayal” comment—
I almost run chest-first into Antones as he enters the meeting room.
He inhales sharply, looking over my shoulder, and goes pale. “By all that’s True,” he breathes. “I heard, but I had to come see for myself.”
My heart squeezes. Chewing my lip, I look from the old man’s crinkled face to the man I know he’s looking at. I see the wave of emotions passing between both of them.
“Master Lukain,” Ant rasps. “You’ve returned.”
Lukain gives his previous second-in-command a swift head nod. “Well met, old friend.” He quirks a wry smile. “I daresay you look much older and refined than when I last saw you, Ant.”
“Save for a few new scars, I daresay you look exactly the same, Master.”