Chapter 26 | Sephania
Sephania
I rush out with my mates, grabbing a few things before heading for the exit ladder: cloak and hood to hide my face, a warmer coat because it’s chilly on the surface, and a few vials of Silverblood Jinneth gave me, just in case.
When we leave the Firehold and I see the wreckage we’ve left behind, I feel guilty. We came in like a hurricane—or at least Skar and Lukain did—and now we’re leaving the Grimsons to pick up the pieces. Literally.
The nobleblood and dhampir join me, Vall, and Garro, but they stay on opposite sides of each other and don’t talk. They glare, sneer, and narrow eyes, which makes me roll my eyes because they’re acting like children, even during a supposed emergency.
I can imagine all they’ve done is postpone their duel, and have clearly not forgotten about it.
Which makes me visibly and audibly frustrated.
I feel like I need to teach them a lesson.
I had been about to teach them something when I raised my voice in the eating room, before the runner Filgy came in with the news.
“What can it mean?” I ask the foursome once we’re on the streets. “Overlord Aramastun lowering the gates. Why would he do such a thing unless he’s planning on invading Nuhav and slaughtering humans like Barnabac Craxon brazenly did?”
My mates won’t quickly forget the mile-long row of heads on pikes that Barnabac erected along the border of the Military Ward after our failed infiltration of his district.
True be true, I’m glad that fucker is dead.
“It could be obfuscation, to hide other nefarious plans,” Skar answers.
No longer sporting his cloak, he looks surprisingly modest without it.
Definitely less of a haughty noble. Almost .
. . normal, with tight black leather garb and a wild mane of dark red hair.
“A distraction from something. What that is, I don’t know. ”
“Zefyra might know,” Garroway suggests.
“If we can find her,” Vallan adds. “She’s deep within the ranks of Aramastun’s army by now.”
“We won’t know more until we seek out answers in the belly of the beast,” Skar says, alluding to something I know none of us wants to do.
With a heavy sigh, I nod. “You’re right. We need to go into Olhav and find out what the fuck’s going on.”
To my left, Lukain marches alongside me, slightly parted from the rest of the group. I imagine he feels like an outcast right now, a renegade in a group he no longer trusts, and it hurts my heart to know he feels betrayed.
I can’t blame him. I don’t know how Skar finally told him the truth, but there was never any chance of it going over well. Now, the goal must be working toward reconciliation. For both their sake. For my sake.
I don’t know what I’d do if I lost those two to hatred and vengeance.
At the same time, I need them to realize something: I’m not going anywhere, and their boiling hate for each other needs to end. Otherwise we won’t get anything done and our revolution will be futile, undermined by our own inner conflicts.
The streets of Nuhav are relatively quiet this evening because it’s so late now. Most humans are asleep, which means the only denizens walking the roads are the homeless, the destitute, the drug-addled, the drunk, and the grayskins who hide in the nooks and crannies of the human city.
Filgy’s announcement seems to be true. I notice the general trajectory of the citizens going a single direction: north, toward the mountains.
People look scared, skeptical, and confused. Some look utterly curious.
With Skar’s suggestion that we go into the lion’s den to find answers, it’s time to continue our mission free from distractions.
Aramastun has made the next move on the game board.
We need to respond. I get the sense we’re running out of time, and can’t be fighting among ourselves unless we want to fall to ruin.
“We need to go see Liolen Sesk while we’re up there,” I tell them. “It’s time.”
“It’s only been a matter of days, little honey badger,” Garroway says. “Should we not plan this out more sufficiently?”
“No. I want to get Palacia back where she belongs, with us. And we need silver, dammit. Liolen has made clear the only way that’s going to happen.”
Vallan says, “We could always break into the North Mines without the overliege’s permission. Perhaps Cordea would help us, if she’s still the forewoman.”
“And make a new enemy of the dandy liege, when we already have so many?” Skar scoffs. “Unwise, brother.”
Lukain has been completely silent. He’s regained his silver saber from the fight, and suddenly I don’t feel safe with him having it around my other vampiric mates. He looks ready to lash out at any moment, biding his time for the right opportunity.
“We’ve put ourselves in a corner of our own making, guys,” I tell them. “Now it’s time we get ourselves out of it.”
We’re nearing the north entrance after walking in hooded secrecy for hours. The press of humans is becoming tight and confining. We start to weave between the crowd, moving toward the front.
Ahead, vampire and dhampir guardsmen who typically act as sentinels, with the north gates their dominion, stand in a defensive line, facing out toward the dozens of citizens who have made the trek here.
If for no other reason, morbid curiosity has brought the lowest denizens of Nuhav to the gates.
I see no reason why a well-meaning mother and her horde of whelps might want to ascend the mountain to Olhav, for instance, when all they’ve lived are horrible circumstances under the Five Ministries’ iron fist.
But these folk, out past midnight, stumbling and staring bleary-eyed at the wrought-iron gates and high stone walls?
Many of them have nothing to lose. No family.
No future. They’re high and drunk and curious what sort of treasures await them in the golden city—a place they’ve never had jurisdiction to go before.
Tradesmen, too, have shown up in their sleepwear, woken from slumber to see if there is something tangible and worthwhile they might be able to pocket in Olhav and bring back down to Nuhav.
Redcloud shipments, perhaps? Silver straight from the source?
Magicked items and gadgetry they cannot even fathom, hidden in the rising spires and marvelous towers on the mountains?
These people have no idea what they’re getting themselves into.
And that, I believe, brings me a little closer to the truth.
“Aramastun can present this as an opportunity,” I mutter to my mates.
They have to lean in to hear me over the thread of confused conversations carrying on around us.
“Then take whatever he wants when the gullible flock is on his doorstep.”
Lukain finally speaks, and it’s not to say anything nice or supportive. “Gullible flock? What does that make us, Sephania, standing out here in the cold alongside them?”
I flare my nostrils, turn to argue—
And a loud, jarring squeal of metal steals my words. It stabs into my brain, making me dizzy. Whipping my head forward, I watch as the Olhavian sentinels step aside, creating a pathway forward.
Through that path, the ever-present iron gates separating the vampires and humans begins to lower, to allow the living and the undead to commingle for the first time in a century.
We are some of the first people through the gate. Vallan and Lukain lead the way. One of them is our largest battering ram, the other our angriest, needing no reason to crack some heads.
Once past the gates, many of the humans stall. They don’t know where to go, other than up the mountain path. Now they’re frightened of what they’re getting themselves into, for good reason, and are frozen with fear as they stare heavenward toward the stark slope of the Olhavian Peaks.
They’ve never been close enough to touch the mountainside before. Now that they can reach out and run their palms along its craggy surface . . . they hesitate.
Some of the more audacious and courageous humans immediately start the climb.
It’s about an hour on foot for a fit person to ascend the trade road.
These are the merchants, willing to toss aside their safety for the dream of a huge payday.
I’m not even sure they know what it is they’re looking for in the golden city on the hill, but I know whatever they find will not be what they expect.
Aramastun Wyvox and the Three Ministries do not do anything out of the kindness of their hearts. Of course. This is a ploy of some kind, perhaps enacted by the Night Judge alone, or with the okay from the Gilded Liege and the Damned Sister.
There’s certainly a feeling we’re lambs being led to the slaughter.
It’s a pervasive, creeping sensation that starts in my belly and seizes my heart.
I imagine it’s what all the Nuhavians feel as they let others pass them and run ahead.
They want to see the terrors that await them before running headlong into them, and think they’re being wise and prudent by holding off the climb while others make it.
Maybe there’s also a sense of mind-control here. Redcloud addicts not even knowing what they’re doing, other than putting one foot in front of the other. They haven’t thought that far ahead, about what awaits them in Olhav. Only that it’s something new and undiscovered for humankind.
I recall Skar’s histories, learning Olhav was once inhabited solely by humans.
Before the vampire infestation that originated in the north mines and quickly swept across the country, warring kingdoms north and south of the Olhavian Peaks used Haven—the city as it was called at the time—quite literally.
It was a haven against the war, for traders and merchants to offload goods, a place for mercenaries to find work free from battle.
I wonder if some of these very same tradesmen now climbing the mountain, over a century later, are the descendants of those original wealthy landowners and merchants who inhabited Haven. Maybe they see a sense of entitlement coming back here to the stolen homeland of their ancestors.
Whatever the case, I can’t think about it any longer. I feel safe with my mates, except perhaps Lukain with his silver sword. I know they’ll protect me, if nothing else.
I don’t actually suspect an immediate ambush like the one we faced in Nuhav’s alleys. It would be too brash and clumsy for Aramastun. He’s a cunning leader, staying quiet until he finds the perfect chance to strike.
This is only a precursor to what’s really happening, I think as we begin to level off on the uphill road. My thighs and ass burn something fierce from the climb, and I would love a carriage right about now.
Unlike the humans who are completely lost, once we reach the apex of the trade road, we know immediately where to go. The pilgrims surrounding us become sparse and less frequent, until we’re digging our heels in toward Olhav in the distance and no one else is around us.
Because of our fugitive status, we don’t beeline into the colorful city. From the hills surrounding the summit where Olhav sits, I can make out the color-coordinated districts from a distance, alight in the night by magicked oil lanterns and alchemically colored fire.
There’s the warm yellow fog to the northwest, furthest from our position, belying the violent Military Ward.
Dim gray and monotone shade makes up the northeastern region, hiding the Intelligence Ward.
Both of those wards have been assimilated into the central red-tinged Judgment Ward, which acts as the heart of the city.
Far off to the right, southeast, is the calm emerald hue of the fanatical Faith Ward.
And closest to us and the road—for trade purposes—is the glittering spectacle and high towers of the many-colored Commerce Ward.
Clenching my jaw, I swallow hard and look at my mates. “Well, no reason to wait.”
We head downhill, toward Liolen Sesk’s Commerce Ward.