Chapter 3 #2
Lionel was draped across the saddle, tied in place with rough, sloppy haste.
His blindfold dangled from his ear, exposing a blank eye with the pupil blown wide and reddened sclera.
Spots of blood erupted all over his body, where spiked iron hands had gripped him with desperation, and one leg was soaked with river water up to the knee.
Talos broke into a run, the mare trotting behind him. He pointed at the road, waving frantically. Go!
Mathis let out a low groan of despair, but we obeyed, wheeling the horses down the road, and kicking them into a gallop.
Nobody knew quite how far the influence of the watcher of Iselaine Blind extended. All we could do was ride for our lives, Talos behind us, and if we were fortunate…if Lionel was fortunate…he would eventually shake the influence whatever had gripped him.
Several miles down the road, Mathis shouted for me to slow.
“You go ahead, Jesamin. I’ll keep pace with Talos and Lionel. We’ll meet you in Owlhorn.”
His face, as familiar to me as my father’s, was set with grim determination.
“Mathis…” I winced, unable to meet his eyes. My voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t slip the bindings, and when we make it there—” he put a special emphasis on ‘when’, “I’ll tie him in the cellar until it passes. Take the news to Lord Wroth, and tell him to shut the road to the Blind. I’m right behind you, my lady.”
He took my hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, squeezing my fingers before he wheeled around to Talos.
I did not deserve such loyalty. Already, my journey to save two hundred, who might be lost to us forever, might have cost us another life.
But I had crossed it and paid a price, and now the road was open and clear. No more Blinds, no unearthly things lying in wait.
I kicked Arion into a gallop again, praying silently.
Night had fallen when Arion slowed to a canter, then a heaving trot, and finally a walk, his head dangling, foamy sweat coating his sides.
The lights of Owlhorn floated ahead, glittering off the waterfalls where the Five Sisters, the rivers dividing our lands, were born out of Sere Lake, flowing ever south and eastward toward the Eridan Sea.
Only a few miles more.
I dismounted, leading my horse and whispering soothing words in a shaky voice.
The closer we drew to Owlhorn, the higher my fear crested.
I might be safe by dint of blood, but Lord Wroth was, by all accounts, neither a kind nor gentle fiend.
It would be far easier to demand a man’s aid than to stare into a snarling lion’s face and inform him that two hundred of his subjects had vanished completely.
But for their sakes and Lionel’s, I would stand firm, and not move an inch until he agreed to come find them. No matter how many teeth he flashed in my face. No matter his awful rages and tempers. Surely he couldn’t kill me? I was a noblewoman by right.
A stone dug into the sole of my boot and I swore, head down, and didn’t see the armored knight before me until he cleared his throat.
I almost leaped out of my own skin. The crossing of the Blind had left my nerves in tatters; the calm Mathis’s brandy instilled in me had long since burned out, and I damn well could’ve used another drink.
We stood in front of the gates to Owlhorn, the namesake owl twisted into the iron bars. Beyond them, the castle gleamed like a siren’s fantasy, ensconced on a peninsula in the midst of the Five Sisters’ headwaters.
The knight stared back at me, nonplussed. “Who are you?”
A vampire, and a young one; he looked hardly more than eighteen. What I could see of his face under the steel, owl-engraved helmet was unnaturally perfect. Poreless skin, gleaming amber eyes with slit pupils. Lips like sin. Teeth like needles.
Just like Renaud.
But there was no mustering up the usual, familiar loathing. I was used up. “I am Lady Jesamin fel Arron, and I need to see Lord Wroth immediately.”
The vampire looked me up and down, a glint in his eyes. “Had a rough night?”
“Immediately means right now.” Hell, I was too tired to muster a glare in return. “I bring desperate news from Lonmire.”
“Well, if you’ve come such a long way, surely a few minutes won’t hurt?” The vampire grinned, those perfect lips stretching over those vicious teeth. “Maybe you should take a minute to freshen up. Bleed off the bad. There’s a nice, private shed over there—”
I pulled out my pistol, loaded with fresh gunpowder that morning, cocked it, and pointed it at his face. “Open the gate.”
His smile shifted, becoming something colder, crueler. “Do you think that little toy will work on one of us?”
Us, and them. No matter how often they said it, vampires weren’t us, didn’t consider themselves part of us, and never would.
“I’ve come a long way and probably lost a good man to bring this news.” I held the pistol, unwavering. “Open the gate or we can find out right now.”
He held his looming posture for a long moment, and not once did I drop my arm. A hint of discomposure reached those amber eyes; his brain had caught up to his bloodlust, and he was finally realizing that he might, in fact, be obstructing a genuine warning.
“Fine.” He waved for the other knight to open the gate. “Go on through. Good luck greeting Lord Wroth with that, though. You’ll last about two seconds.”
I shrugged, but didn’t holster the pistol until I’d led Arion through. Crushed shells crunched under my boots, and I considered that maybe I could’ve handled that better, but…
Two hundred souls, gone in a single night.
A pale face in a window.
A black coin, as cold as ice in my pocket.
Lionel’s single, staring eye, the iris eaten by the void of his pupil.
I couldn’t stop until I stood before Lord Wroth himself and extracted his promise to do something. Anything.
Owlhorn loomed before us, beautiful and daunting. The castle boasted four towers, and the doors featured the same owl as the one in the gates, its eyes set with polished chunks of pale blue sea glass, glaring down at us as though to ask why we thought we were worthy to walk on this ground.
Only a few more steps. We were so close. I’d drag him out of bed if I had to. Did fiends even need sleep?
The doors cracked, then flung wide open. I paused, astonished, as the object of my journey looked out into the night, his arm around a beautiful noblewoman, the two of them framed in golden light.
Gods, maybe this was his wedding night, and here I was, bringing him awful news.
He was as terrible as I’d expected. A huge fiend, towering nearly seven feet tall, broad and muscular in a way no mortal man could achieve.
His head was that of a lion, uptilted eyes as bright as ice against fine snowy fur, rimmed in black.
His mane spilled over his shoulders and down his back.
Dark horns curled back from his brow; his hands were almost paw-like, tipped with claws.
Those boreal, slit-pupiled eyes focused on me.
We hadn’t risked Lionel’s life for me to slink away now. If he and his bride were out for air, they could spare me a few moments. He was the Lord of the Rivers, and Lonmire was his responsibility.
“You!” I pointed at him, desperation in every line of my body. “Don’t you shut that door!”
I limped faster, and to my surprise, his mouth stretched in a wide grin. He whispered something to the noblewoman, who looked shocked at the sight of me.
She tore herself from his grip, teeth bared in a snarl, rubbing her arm as though he’d hurt her.
I looked up at her when we reached the bottom of the steps. Lady Esteri lai Auvray. A true Veladari beauty, the scourge of tea rooms and ladies’ parlors. A single word from her could lead to a public shunning, just like that.
Gods damn it all. It truly was his wedding night. I must’ve missed the announcement while holed up in my workshop.
Somewhere inside me, the rusted gears clicked and jammed again. I should’ve had my wedding night already.
“Who are you to—Jesamin,” she said, her hostility becoming bemused derision as she looked me over. “Jesamin fel Arron. You’re hardly eligible. What in the Light’s name are you doing here?”
“I’m here for him.” I jerked my head at Wroth, and disregarded her altogether. “Lord Wroth, I come bearing dire news—”
“For the Lady’s sake, you’re not wifely material. You toil like a commoner. And…you’re Forian,” Esteri interrupted, and she said it with that wrinkle in her nose, the curl of the lip, that all the old nobility of the Rivers had when they mentioned my mother or my lineage.
They were a small sliver of the reason I’d gone to the Argent Collegium to study Artifice, but sometimes, it's the smallest slivers that leave the sharpest wounds.
“I’m aware of that,” I said coolly. “Lord Wroth—”
Esteri opened her mouth.
Lord Wroth put his massive hand over it before she could speak. I blinked, almost feeling bad for her. To be married to a man who muzzled her for speaking…she was an awful snob, but did she truly deserve that?
“Bram, have this stowed…hmm.” Gods, his voice was deep. He wasn’t shouting, and yet I felt the rumble of that bass vibrating in my chest. “In the cellar. That feels like the appropriate place.”
Esteri spat a string of vitriol, muffled by his hand, and a handsome man in a bloodwitch’s dark robes took control of her.
I stood frozen, wondering if I should say something. I had heard tales of our lord’s temper, but this was truly beyond the pale.
“Off you go, now,” the bloodwitch said, wincing. Esteri stomped on his foot, struggling, but a human woman was no match for even a half-vampire man. He bundled her out of sight, and I had to choke down my distaste for seeing her controlled like that. There were more important things at the moment.
“You must come with me, right now.” I met those icy eyes squarely, stiffening my shoulders.
Wroth eyed me, snorted, and turned.