Chapter 30 | Sephania
Sephania
“Do we trust them?”
Garroway poses the question. We’re on our way to the North Mines to collect our booty, because there’s no time like the present. The trek is a slog since we have to hide our travels due to being fugitives and all.
Luckily, the eyes of Olhav seem to be tilted toward the south and the incoming Nuhavians on their gold-dusted pilgrimage. We’re headed northeast toward the Military Ward and beyond, down the mountain.
I felt a pang of sadness at leaving Palacia behind, though it’s nothing like the debilitating heart-squeeze I feel anytime my mates aren’t with me. That’s how I know I’ve made the right decision.
“Trust who?” Lukain asks. “Palacia and Liolen? From my time with the Grimsons, I know Palacia is—”
“No, not thems. They. Theys? The fucking overliege!” Garroway whines. “Liolen.”
“Quiet your voice, cub,” Vallan scolds. His eyes veer like turrets across the small forts and finely made houses we pass.
We’ve skirted to the fringes of the Military Ward to make double sure we aren’t spotted, and are currently creeping through a residential area, the place dim, foggy, and dreary.
Vallan and Skar are keeping close watch for any undesirables.
“Why would they lie?” I ask, referring to they, singular.
“Because they’re a glorified politician?” Garro answers as a question. “It’s what they do. Politicians, that is. Not theys. This is getting confusing.”
“Only because you’re making it that way, love,” I say with a small snicker. My boots accidentally kick a small pebble across the road and it skitters, which has everyone scowling at me. I grimace, stop snickering, and try to walk quieter. “Sorry.”
“A politician and the richest one at that,” Lukain says. “What do you do when the politician and lobbyist is the same person? The same they?”
Well, sounds like they’re all getting in on the silliness. At least Lukain is being more talkative. Maybe he’s discovered I was serious about riding someone other than him and Skar if they don’t get their shit together, so he’s trying to make nice to get on my good side.
I would love for Master Lukain to be on my good side.
After all, he didn’t do anything wrong, to start. Other than try to kill Skartovius with a silver sword, it was Skar who was the liar. Lukain deserves to be groveled at by his half-brother on his knees, begging forgiveness.
I know there’s a greater chance the moon crashes into Nuhav than that happening.
“Could be misdirecting us,” Skar murmurs. “Diverting our attention. And succeeding.”
My eyebrows lift as I glance over at him and all his cloak-less non-glory.
He does look less regal and not quite as imposing without that fluttering thing over his back, now all wiry muscles and dark armor.
Still stupidly attractive and oozing sex.
And did he just answer a direct question from Lukain?
We’re making progress, people. “Right,” I say, clearing my throat.
“Let’s not be led astray.” I point forward like a pirate captain at the wheel. “To the North Mines.”
Vallan sighs. “It’s where we’re headed already. Could everyone lower their damned voices?”
“Sorry, Father,” I squeak.
He grunts with some disapproving gravel in his lungs.
As we get closer to the edge of the mountains to the north, my mind drifts again. I find myself frowning, sadness seeping through me. “Do you guys think Palacia can be happy with someone like that?” I ponder aloud.
“Vampire’s aren’t happy,” Skar says definitively. “It’s in our blood, little temptress. She made her decision and has to, erm, live with it.”
I think about his emphasis. Because vampires aren’t really alive. So they’re not really living. See, you can have jokes too, Skar. It doesn’t have to only be Garroway.
“You posed the question to her, yes?” Lukain asks. “About joining your, erm, family.”
I nod. “We came to a mutual agreement.”
“Then it’s settled. You’ve done what was asked—”
“More than was asked of you,” Skar cuts in.
“—of you.” They end “of you” at the same time, and Lukain glares at Skar across the way. They’re still walking on opposite sides of the road, the damned children.
It’s going to take longer than a single night for their decades of baggage to be forgotten. I was starting to get hopeful for a moment there, too.
The jealousy reeking off Skar’s body is so palpable I can practically see it radiating off him in waves. If any of my mates are overly possessive to a fault, it’s that one. And I wouldn’t change a thing about it.
Skar puts a hand on my arm, in the gentlest motion I’ve seen from him in weeks. It makes me jolt, and I look over at him with surprise. “It’s time to move on and let Palacia live her own death, little temptress.”
My nose wrinkles. Easier said than done.
We start down the mountain pass. On this side, descending north, it’s dead out. We pass no one. On the south side of the peaks, it’s like a new tavern opened up at the summit of the mountain, and they’re doing a grand opening.
“I . . . might have given her a vial of Silverblood,” I murmur. Minutes have passed since anyone said anything.
Lukain’s and Skar’s necks snap. “You what?!” they hiss in unison, in an eerie sameness that proves they’re related, if I didn’t already know.
I bare my teeth in a grimace, ducking my head like a coward. “I, uh. Just jesting!” Then I point to the horizon in a random direction, again like a pirate captain. “To the North Mines!”
Vallan, above the fray: “Will everyone shut the fuck up?”
Surprisingly, our matter at the North Mines goes without incident. Somehow, they’ve been given word ahead of time we’d be arriving, as if Liolen has a secret colorful dandy bird they send off with messages.
How else could they have gotten word this far down the mountain before we got here, when we just struck the deal? Must be a dandy bird messenger.
No one is happy I gave my Loreblood to Liolen in exchange for silver deposits, though they’re saving that argument for later.
We can’t think about that now—or what kind of madness said Loreblood might awaken in a monster like the Gilded Liege—because all I can think about is all this glittering fucking silver and how much it will help the Chained Sisters develop better, stronger Silverblood, faster.
The weight of silver we’re given by the interfolk miners is substantial. It comes in two potato sacks, like the kind Vallan threw over his shoulder years ago when we first came here and he killed someone and then walked off with silver.
Things seem easier now, surely. No killing required for this batch of shiny metal.
Cordea, forewoman of the North Mines with Vallan out of the job after killing his former master, is a sight for sore eyes.
The lithe vampiress is undeniably fetching with her lean face, lean build, and full, seductive lips always pressed in a disapproving pout.
And after my time with Palacia, well . .
. I have to wonder what she would be like.
Doesn’t have the same equipment Pala does, from what I can tell. But it’s no matter.
In fact, ever since me and Palacia did the deed, I seem to be cheerier, thinking amusing thoughts and making amusing gestures. Certainly less stressed. Funny how an insanely satisfying orgasm or five will do that.
I think it could also have something to do with having all four mates together again and, most importantly, talking to each other. If my plan to right the ship using Pala as a satisfying means to that end actually worked, I’ll be the luckiest woman in Nuhav and Olhav.
We’re standing five-strong at the central command tent in the sprawl of the North Mines.
Off against the mountain, angled, are the deep caverns with constant picking and clanking as their silver seams are mined.
A giant hole in the earth sits a hundred feet to our right, yawning like a portal to the afterworld, also filled with glittering veins.
A group of interfolk miners on their break watches us from the flaps of their tents. Others are working tirelessly, heaving and hauling wheelbarrows of mud, working through the muck at this late hour.
“I wondered why the overliege called off the guards tonight,” Cordea muses as her subordinates pass us the bulging sacks of silver. “Then I got the letter.”
“Via dandy bird?” I quip.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Vallan says, “Thank you for not fighting us on this, Cordea.” He has deep respect for the woman, and it’s shown in his tone and how he bows his head toward her after tossing one of the sacks over his shoulder.
“Oh, I would have fought you,” Cordea answers flatly, eyeing each of us in turn. “But I’m not going to try my luck against five of you.”
I hide a smirk, and see the others are trying to also.
Except Vallan, who remains frowning. “So it’s true then. You’re Aramastun’s woman now.”
She throws her head back with a guffaw. “The Night Judge’s woman, Vall?” She strikes a pose, pumping her hip out and crossing her arms under her breasts. The tight black leathers hugging her form is incredibly distracting. “If anything, I’m his man.”
My brow launches. More like Pala than I thought? I muse stupidly.
“I run the mines because I’m loyal to my kind.
” Her eyes narrow, her fangs slip out on her bottom lip.
She glares at Vall in a way that tells me she doesn’t think he’s loyal to his kind like she is.
I guess she’d be right, given what we’re trying to do and all this silver we’re stealing.
“Besides,” she tuts, “we both know I’m not the kind of woman Aramastun Wyvox prefers. ”
I can’t help myself. “What kind of woman does he prefer?”
“Weak ones,” she shoots back.
“Oh.” I pout, clicking my tongue. “Don’t know any of those.”
“Yes,” Cordea smirks wickedly, “you’ve proven to be more of a thorn in Olhav’s ass than I thought you’d be, princess.”
I beam proudly.
Vallan says, “Will you tell him we’ve been here?”
“Of course.”
He frowns. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Anything that can change your mind?” I add.
To try and bribe Cordea, I start to reach into the bag over Vallan’s shoulder.
“How ‘bout some silver?” She hisses, taking a step back as I come out holding a chip of the brilliant stuff. “Oh, right.” I click my tongue again. “Wouldn’t be great for your perfect skin.”
My jokes aren’t landing. I see the strained expressions on my mates’ faces. I stop trying to make light of the dreary situation, with Cordea telling us to our faces that she’s going to betray us.
“Your little fugitive gang has stood here long enough, Taskmaster,” she snarls at Vallan. “It’s best you begone. And don’t tell me where you’re going.”
“We weren’t going to.” Vallan eyes the way she firms her hand around the hilt of her sword to make the threat a good one.
“I agree. We’ve overstayed our welcome.” He looks like he wants to apologize, or say something sincere to Cordea, but her stance shows she’s not having it.
He’s dead to her. Well, deader than he already is.
With a grunt, Vallan swings the sack more comfortably over his shoulder. “If we both live through this secret war, Cordea, I hope you never have to see my face again, since it offends you so.”
Cordea’s crimson eyes shimmer, and for a moment I think there’s a tinge of emotion there. Then it’s gone. “The feeling is mutual, old friend,” she says through gritted teeth.