Chapter 55 | Sephania
Sephania
The next evening, after everyone sobers up, we’re ready. Well-rested. Not one-hundred percent, but when are we ever? It will have to do. I can’t keep my mother waiting. I can’t keep Aramastun Wyvox waiting.
In a small room of the Firehold we’re using as a command center, Rirth joins me and my mates as we pore over a map of Olhav and, specifically, the Judgment Ward.
Despite inhabiting it perhaps the longest of any district in Olhav—when I was imprisoned for months at the top of Sutlis Spire—it’s the ward I know the least about.
It’s also the largest and most expansive ward, with skyrises that rival the Commerce Ward in height and stature, and a military presence that rivals Barnabac Craxon’s old stomping grounds.
Rirth, still using the canes as crutches and certainly going against my wishes by being out of bed, mutters to our group.
“Aramastun’s army is diminished and shrinking by the night.
The Faith Ward has collapsed, a leaderless frenzy of frothing, mindless fiends.
The Commerce Ward is in tatters after my little pixie put an end to its illustrious leader. ”
“I don’t even want to know how Pala managed that one,” Lukain murmurs.
“Yes you do, you old pervert,” Garroway chirps. “You’d love to know exactly how—”
Lukain growls,. “I’m younger than you, reprobate!”
I stare at my dhampirs as Garroway giggles and stumbles from a shove from Lukain. I’m unimpressed. “You’re both children,” I sigh. And that settles it.
Rirth clears his throat. “As I was saying.”
“Yes, what were you saying in your monotonous ramblings,” Skartovius poses, tapping his chin.
The nobleblood still doesn’t like the idea of us going through with this, meeting Aramastun where he’s strongest. He’s probably not wrong in that.
Rirth narrows his eyes on Skar, and I have to wonder if something passed between them on the battlefield outside the Faith Ward cathedral.
Sure seems like it. “Fullbloods are losing their command over their thralls,” Rirth continues.
“We’ve had months now of Silverblood circulating through Olhav.
Before long, Aramastun’s army will dry up.
If we can raise the gates separating the city and prevent curious Nuhavians from marching up the mountain to their deaths, even better. ”
“So you’re saying now is the time to act,” I put simply. When Rirth shrugs and nods, I give Skar a challenging smile. “I told you.”
He rolls his eyes.
Vallan says, “Even so, it’s best if we have a plan of action.”
“Of course, my big brute,” I say, and then glance toward the open door of the room. “On that note.”
I leave the command center and head down the hall, listening to my mates complain and call out, wondering where the hell I’m going.
I barge into the Chained Sisters’ wing and make my way to Iron Sister Keffa’s bedroom, where she’s still laid up.
There are no doctors with her this evening, which is a good sign.
It means she’s resting and rehabilitating from the sword wound across her front.
It’ll leave a nice scar to show my mother once they’re together again, I tell myself.
“Iron Sister,” I whisper, kneeling at her side.
Her eyes open. “Child.”
“Is there anything more you can tell us about Aramastun Wyvox before we face off against him? Anything that can alleviate my mates’ worries? Erm, my worries?”
She blinks, thinking. The lines on her leathery face seem deeper tonight, but I make nothing of it. She’s ancient, after all. “Well,” she says, “I was surprised to learn he has wings.”
My stomach plummets. “He . . . what?”
Her brow furrows.
I put my hands on my head, because it’s the only thing I can do to keep my brain lodged in my skull. “You didn’t think to lead with that the other night?!”
Her lips twist into a scolding frown. “Apologies, I thought your missing mother was a higher priority, Lady Lock.”
Guilt swims through me. I wince and stammer. “Of c-course she is. But what do you mean—”
“I did tell you, didn’t I? I said he flew in . . .”
“. . . ‘Like a great and powerful wind,’” I recite. When I let out a heavy sigh, my whole body seems to deflate. This does not bode well. “Well. Shit. Maybe my mates don’t need to know this, because it’ll only exacer—”
“Too late,” says Skar behind me.
“—fuck!” I finish with a jolt. All four of them are crowded in the doorway behind me. “You sneaky bastards!”
I turn back to Keffa, pleading with my eyes for something hopeful and inspiring.
“I need my rest, child,” she sighs, closing her eyes. “Don’t disappoint your mother, please.”
With another huge sigh, I nod and stand. I can’t exactly deny her sleep after she took a sword in the tits for me.
Racking my brain, I make my way back to the conference room with my mates. I’m talking to myself and trying to work things out, saying, “Well, okay, so he has wings. So what? We don’t know what it means or how it relates to—”
“Sephania.” Skar’s voice stops me cold. I hear the fatherly tone there, making me feel like I did something wrong. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough. You’re . . . giddy with nerves.”
“It’s all I can do to keep from going hysterical, you dumb noble ass!”
He puts his hands on his hips. “Then let’s plan an escape route for your mother like last time, rather than charging headlong into sure suicide on Aramastun’s home turf.”
At least he’s halfway there on the plan. It’s no longer “we can’t do this.” Now it’s “let’s sneak her out, rather than kill everyone.” I can work with that.
I try to push against his vanity and pride.
Putting my hands on my hips to match his stance, I say, “What are you so scared of, Skar? Hmm? It’s so unlike you to shrivel up at the sign of conflict.
You’re usually first to pump your chest out and challenge someone to a duel.
” My eyes flicker to Lukain, who shies away from my provocation.
He wants nothing to do with our argument, and I know it was Lukain who challenged Skar, not the other way around, but it was Skar’s fault for lying to him in the first place!
“Oh, I don’t know,” Skar drawls. “The fact it’s almost guaranteed to be a trap? A trick? An ambush? The fact you’re almost guaranteed to offer yourself in exchange for your mother, in some showing of self-sacrifice? The fact the fangy bastard has wings?”
My face scrunches with a grimace. “Okay. Okay, point well made.”
Vallan says, “Your little friend Imis was right the entire time. We should have listened to her more closely.”
Garro says, “Did you forget she was stolen from us, big brute, and almost sacrificed to our unholy gods in the name of the Sister of the Damned, Valenthia Yurlyth?”
Vallan scowls, turning his gigantic body to tower over Garroway. “No. I didn’t forget, cub.”
Everyone is on pins and needles. The tension is high, I can’t deny that, and I haven’t done a good job of settling everyone.
If it were up to me and things weren’t so dire and we had time on our side, I’d love nothing more than to fuck the senses out of these four men together and relieve all our stress and frustrations.
But Jinneth can’t wait for that. Also, it wouldn’t feel right—it would feel like a farewell, as if we’re doing something in our final moments together, knowing we’re going to die the next day.
I can’t send that energy out. I won’t do it.
“Look,” I say, spreading my arms wide to gather everyone’s attention back at the map.
“Imis doesn’t know much more about Aramastun’s demon heritage than we do.
We’ve fought demons before, boys. They all fall if you cut their wings.
” I recoil at their confused faces. “Their proverbial wings. This one is no different. He’s just older—”
“And stronger,” Skar interjects.
“And faster,” Lukain adds.
“And meaner,” Garroway quips.
“And more desperate,” Vallan finishes.
Rirth, standing in the corner of the room and watching this debacle of a meeting, clacks his canes on the ground. “He’s also given you clues in his message. Which means he’s arrogant like Skartovius.”
“And too proud like you,” I say, strangely coming to Skar’s defense.
Rirth accepts that with a stern nod. Limping forward, he rests against the map table, staring down at the Judgment Ward. He really shouldn’t be walking right now, the idiot.
“I can round up hundreds of Silverknights to distract his army,” he says, and hope starts to grow in my chest. “Our ranks have only swelled since returning the Nuhavians from the Faith Ward. We can cause a diversion so you can do the job you need to do.”
“You’re talking about hundreds of knights against thousands of vampires,” Skartovius answers doubtfully. “You’ll get crushed, Silverknight. These aren’t Valenthia’s mindless flock. These are skilled judgemen, each one equal to three of your best fighters. No offense.”
“I’m not planning on charging headlong into them, dammit,” Rirth growls.
“Good, because you can barely sit a horse in your current state, my friend,” Garroway says, raising a finger.
How does he always manage to be so unhelpful? I wonder.
“Your attack on the North Mines is a good example of a successful diversion,” Rirth continues.
He readjusts his weight with a grunt, stuffing the canes under his arms and warming his palms together.
It’s funny he’s short enough to use them as crutches to put under his armpits, because Antones wasn’t that tall of a man.
“Sure,” I say, “except Aramastun was there.” I lift my arms, where my forearms are still dotted with little pinpricks from his whip that gathered my blood for him. “And clearly, he gained enough Loreblood during that skirmish to grow his damnable wings.”
“Right.” Rirth rolls his wrist, then draws a line between the northwestern mines on the other side of the Olhavian Peaks, to the Judgment Ward in the center of the mountain city. “My point is, he only had a small fighting force there. A dozen judgemen at most. And why is that?”
When he poses the question to the class like that, trailing off, it’s Vallan who answers. “Because he didn’t have time to round up his entire force.”
Rirth snaps his fingers. “Right you are, big Buver.”
“Big brute,” Vall corrects. “I’m not your brother.”
Rirth snaps his fingers again, points at the giant vampire, and says nothing this time.
“You’re saying you think Aramastun won’t have the time to amass his entire army to descend on Sutlis Spire?” I ask.
“Not in less than two days, which is how much time he’s had.
If I had to venture a guess, he learned our attack on the Faith Ward was happening as it was happening.
Angry, he flew off like a gargoyle, came here, and did his dirty work.
It screams of rash actions to justify the loss to his people and to not look humiliated. To bait us into coming to him.”
“. . . And you’re telling us to be baited?” Skar says. “Just so we’re clear.”
“Rash actions.” I bob my brows. “Recklessness? I’m sensing a theme here. Maybe we’re not so different.”
Rirth bares his teeth in a grimace. “I think he has less support than you’re giving him credit for.
That’s what I’m saying, nobleblood.” He mulls that over, rubbing at his chin, pursing his lips.
“In fact, it seems his plans have gone awry at every turn. He lowered Nuhav’s gates to try and draw humans into his web.
To confuse us. Instead, Valenthia Yurlyth gets the brunt of the sacrificial lambs because she partnered with the Truehearts to steal the blood-sacks right from under Aramastun’s nose. ”
I blink. That’s a good point. If nothing else, Rirth is making a good case for this “demonic” vampire not being as powerful as he tries to seem. “Smoke and mirrors,” I mutter.
“And if it’s not smoke and mirrors? If he rips us apart limb from limb?” Skar asks.
I shrug so high my shoulders nearly meet my ears. “Then what’s the difference if it’s tonight or it’s next year? Why give him a chance to rebuild his army when he’s weakened like this?”
He doesn’t have a rebuttal for that. His lips open, no words come out, and I feel like I’ve finally stumped the stern strategist for the first time. “Shit,” he sighs, as if realizing it at the same time. “. . . You might be right, little temptress.”
I give him a smug smile. “I know I am, love. When will you learn I always am?”
He rolls his gold-flecked eyes in such an exaggerated way it’s impossible to miss. “Take your wins gracefully, you damned brat princess.”
“Then we’re all agreed?” I ask, eyeing each man in turn. To Rirth, I say, “How quickly can you get the Silverknights up, out of bed, and ready?”
“You need them tonight? Give me three hours. I’ll send runners posthaste.”
“There’s still six hours of night left,” Vallan says.
“Go there, rescue your mother, kill the demon bloodsucker, and be back in bed by sunrise,” Garro says cheerily. “I like it.”
“How are you getting there past Aramastun’s army?” Rirth asks.
I rest an arm on Skartovius’ tall shoulder, patting him fondly. My smile is devious, and it looks like Skar is resisting another eye-roll. “We have a guy for that.”