Chapter 37 | Vallan
Vallan
Silverknight Rirth has shown his true, treacherous colors. According to Sephania, the man has changed drastically since their time together as Grimsons. Lukain agrees, and he would know best.
That said, I understand Rirth’s strategy. Even if Sephania hates how it went down, and I saw the pain of betrayal in her eyes while Vanison was led away by the foolish Bronze guards, it’s a pragmatic move by the Silverknight captain.
In war, sacrifices must be made. I know that better than most. Lives are lost, people are exchanged like cattle, and even when it’s ugly, the ends justify the means. That’s the theory.
I introduced Vanison Shirin to Sephania. Whenever we’d need to find him, I was the one who would search the catacombs and underground labyrinths for the silversmith, because I had an innate sense where he’d be hiding. I’ve known the human for over a decade, and his vampiric brother even longer.
Vanison was always a wily, ferrety man. There’s no great grief I feel at his loss, because Rirth was right: As silver became more abundant and readily available in Nuhav, Vanison became expendable.
It’s the way of the world—a man once lauded for his access to forbidden goods became a means-nothing player in this savage political war once he lost his exclusive connection to silver.
There are many bit players just like Vanison. None with the reputation of the illicit trader, or even the skill of smithing he uses to iron the glittering ore into weaponry for the citizens and Silverknights.
As soon as the noose is around his neck, countless copycat rogues hiding in the shadows of Vanison Shirin will burst free and gleefully take his place. With him gone, there will be an opening to fill. It might become violent and deadly.
That doesn’t bother me either. Rogues and scoundrels killing each other is not a bad thing, in my eyes. It leaves less work for the Bronzes and Silverknights to do.
All we need to do now is make good on our promise to obtain heaps of silver for everyone involved in our rebellion. That might be easier said than done.
There was also the altercation my silverblood queen had with the sagging old priest in the room.
They have a history, and I wonder what it is.
If I learn this man, Archpriest Cullard, laid hands on my girl, there will be something much worse than violence visited upon him. I’ll make him pray he was never born.
Coaxing this information out of Sephania won’t be easy. She often stays mum about her past. She keeps things buried, only to spring free once faced with her past head-on, like this evening at the abandoned outpost meeting.
I won’t push her. There’s too much going on in her life to focus on things she doesn’t wish to think about. Archpriest Cullard’s time will come, and I will be right there by Sephania’s side when it does. So will the other men in her coven, who noticed the same pained reaction I did from her.
Our return journey to the Firehold is solemn. Sephania keeps her head bowed, staring at the ground as she walks. “He’s changed so much, Ant,” she complains to the leader of the Grimsons.
Antones says, “The change started after Master Lukain left us. I’m not surprised by this. It’s simply a natural progression of the man he was already becoming.”
“Savage, traitorous—”
“But to what end?” Antones cuts in. “You act as if the man’s villainous turn came from nowhere, for no reason.”
Lukain adds, “It’s as much my fault as anyone else’s. I helped turn him into what he is now: a ruthless fighter.”
Sephania lifts her head, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and gives Lukain a sad glance before looking past him to Antones—the current leader of the Grimsons. The man who’s had problems with Rirth. “You make it sound like you agree with what he did to Vanison, Ant.”
Antones shrugs. “No one ever said this revolution was going to be pretty. I understand it, yes. Do I agree with it? That’s debatable.”
Marching on the outskirts of the group and watching ever shadowy nook and cranny, Skartovius says, “The greater concern is what his allies might do. Anything they do to aid the silversmith might jeopardize this tenuous truce we have with the Silverknights and Bronzes.”
“You’re talking about Indokkus,” I say.
He nods curtly. “Quite right, brother.”
I run a hand through my beard. “Indokkus was once part of your court.”
“I’m aware.”
I let the silence linger. Then, “Are you prepared to end him if he gets any ideas regarding his sibling?”
“You mean a jailbreak of some kind?” Skartovius hums. “I suppose Indokkus must meet the sword if—”
Seph lets out a dismal sound at the idea.
She turns, walking backwards while throwing her arms up.
“We can’t just go killing each other and fighting our allies!
That defeats the whole purpose of unity, you two.
” She points a stern finger at Skar. “Don’t forget, Indokkus faithfully carried out your whims and battles as part of your court for years.
He fought with us during Trithea Plaza.”
“Aye, temptress, I know. Allegiances change. We can’t be certain he’s still an ally. Surely you remember Demilord Tymon.”
“And surely you remember Helget.”
They stare daggers at one another. I know they’ve fucked within the past week, finally getting Skartovius out of his exasperating rut, but now they seem right back where they started. Always pressing one another, as if their shared anger gets them geared up for the bedroom.
“Yes. One man betrays us, another helps us,” Skar murmurs. “We don’t know which side of the fence Indokkus falls on.”
“Then why don’t we ask him?” Lukain poses. “If he’s a man you’ve known for decades, who has followed you loyally, then surely you can trust the words that come from his mouth?”
Skartovius scoffs. “If only it were so easy. Indokkus is a vampire. He will be incensed by his brother’s capture. He might not be thinking clearly, which will make him untrustworthy.”
“None of this is important,” I boom from the back of the group. “Vanison is finished, whether we agree with it or not. Indokkus is irrelevant. What matters is getting our hands on the silver we promised to get, to further the distribution of the Silverblood and to arm the Nuhavians.”
Garroway pats me on the shoulder and then flaps his hand. “I’m in agreement with the big brute. We must move forward. Vanison is a creature of the past.”
Sephania mewls, “Would hate to see how you guys deal with my departure, you toss this guy aside so easily.”
“You two are not the same, silverblood.” My gaze falls on her fair face. “You’re not even on the same plane of existence.”
We make it to the Firehold, standing before the opening. The sun will rise soon, the sky is turning pink, and most of us must be underground before long.
“So what’s the move, then?” Sephania asks, crossing her arms under her chest. She looks at each of us in turn.
I speak for the group, deciding I’m the only one who can make the call on what we’re about to do. “Tomorrow evening, call to your friend Zefyra, silverblood. I believe it’s time we activate the Gilded Ghosts.”
It takes us three days to nail down the location of Sister Zefyra. She is truly like a ghost, that one.
Since losing Manor Marquin, our network of spies and scouts is fractured, which means we have to rely on other means to find her.
Garroway utilizes his beast-charming for hours on end, each night, until he’s lathered in sweat and panting.
He combs Olhav from top to bottom, spying through rats and owls and other critters in the countryside.
It isn’t until we get word from an unlikely source—one of Tymon Aldion’s treasonous guards in the eastern woods—that we finally put eyes on the specter of Zefyra.
A note comes to us late that evening. By this point, it’s been a week since we were unceremoniously ousted from the North Mines by Cordea, at the behest of Overliege Liolen Sesk. We’re hoping enough time has passed that the soldiers guarding the mines have relaxed their guard.
We meet the former Chained Sister in the shadows of the Commerce Ward, right under Liolen’s nose, where we first ran into her. The colorful district is bustling with so many human merchants and vampires looking to make it rich on their backs that it’s easy to go unnoticed here.
Even when a group of Liolen’s mercenaries passes us on the road en route to Tanmount Tower, they make no note of us.
At least not to our faces. I wonder if enough time has passed, too, that our status as fugitives has been forgotten.
Unlikely. This is simply one passing group searching countless faces.
They can’t focus on everyone. And that’s what we’re banking on.
In the deserted tavern where we first met the halfkeeper ex-miners called the Gilded Ghosts, the troop is absent. Only Zefyra waits for us, and she refuses to tell us where she’s stashed the Ghosts.
“What else can you tell us, Zef?” Sephania asks. She leans against a rickety table, arms crossed. “You’ve been hidden within Aramastun’s army for months. What are his movements?”
“The Night Judge is still focused on repossessing the nobleblood houses in the countryside,” she tells us. “His ploy to lower the gates to Nuhav has bought him time and warm bodies to feed his army. Don’t be surprised if you start to hear of people missing from your city, Sephania.”
My silverblood looks worried about that, and for good reason. “What of Liolen, your employer?” she asks. “Can we assume they won’t hear of this transgression against their mines?”
Zefyra gives her a wicked smile. The sharp scar cut down the side of her pale face glistens in the moonlight through a window. “Just because the Gilded Liege pays me doesn’t mean I’m loyal to them. I fight for the dispossessed, like you. I fight for Ethera.”
She glances at me over Sephania’s shoulder, and I frown. I recall the way my axehead nearly tore Ethera’s head from her body, the wound in her neck was so deep.