Chapter 8
Wroth
“Ifeel like we hardly made progress at all.”
Fel Arron sat cross-legged before a small campfire in a quiet corner, staring up at the statue of Liliach with squinted eyes. Her golem stood behind her with his arms crossed like a disapproving governess.
I glanced around the bastion. The wagons and mules had made it through the iron-reinforced doors many hours after us; now the entrances had been barred with new chains of cold iron, and the knights were surrounding several other fires.
A massive cauldron was boiling, Sir Aleyn scooping in the powdered ox blood to reconstitute into bloodpowder tea, a mixture that would keep us from thirsting.
Marrion had retreated to their fire after enduring my fuss, clutching a cup of the hot bloodpowder tea to replenish herself. She was paler than usual, her scarlet robe wrapped around herself like a blanket, eyes closed as she sipped. She kept her right hand clenched tight.
“Today was about neither speed nor distance.” A few days ago, I might not have bothered to explain myself at all, but this damn Artificer seemed to pull the words from me with no effort.
“It was about making it precisely this far. This bastion will become the first camp, the first supply chain drop. Should anything go wrong, we will have the defensibility of these walls to retreat to.”
Fel Arron’s eyes moved over the statue, and finally to the walls and the high vaulted ceiling.
She also held a cup of tea, but hers was from the small kettle on the fire before her, the scent of jasmine rising from her cup.
“These bastions…these were where your people lived in exile, weren't they? Your homes.”
I nodded, remembering those hated days. The endless watches, the constant shoring of the walls, the bloodpowder tea stretched until it was thin and watery, never taking the edge off the cramping thirst. “Yes. These were the only places where we could feel somewhat at ease. We have not even begun to plumb the horrors of this place; surely you now see why my kind are averse to giving up any power that keeps them above. To live here is to live in constant hell.”
She nodded slowly, brow furrowed. “I suppose I do see. How many bastions are there?” Her gaze kept drifting back to Liliach, and I debated tearing the priceless statue down just to rip her attention away from it.
“Many, all over Veladar. They were the only way to safely travel.” I shrugged.
“We are fortunate this one is in good condition. Some have collapsed, some were overrun and are now mass graves, a few eventually gave way to the qualities of this place and are now…different, like the entry hall. We scattered these waypoints all over the Below, and used them as guides on our travels.”
“So why…her?” She nodded to Liliach, sipping her tea and glancing at me over the rim of her cup. “Why venerate her down here? Was she not the cause of your exile?”
I considered the enormous stone fiend for a moment, not enjoying the sight of her.
Her fiend form was too close to my brother’s for my comfort.
“When my people were first exiled Below, the elders—the royal highbloods, those of Liliach’s ilk—still loved her.
They weren’t ready to believe she was dead.
But as the elders failed to adapt, and died one by one down here in the dark, their love died with them.
Those who lived saw her for what she was: a beast, a tyrant. ”
“This looks like a shrine to her,” fel Arron said quietly. “Like the statue of the Lady of Light in Argent.”
“It is history,” I corrected, wanting to bristle, but strangely unable to.
“This statue is a reminder of what we were, and how far we have come. Perhaps some of us are still as beasts, but we did it for noble reasons, not selfishness. When we look upon Liliach now, we feel no pride—only a remembrance of what we could become without humans to balance us, and a reason never to do so again. But in the early days, her image was a lucky charm to the first exiles of the Below. When Liliach came to power, she murdered the remaining Fae. Back then, to carve Liliach’s face into the stone was believed to ward off the Fae’s relics.
It was those small superstitions, small beliefs, that kept my people alive down here for so long.
Most are gone now, but a few of those statues and carvings remain. This might be the last of them.”
Fel Arron made a quiet humming sound, and finally those large doe eyes shifted to me.
Was that judgement in those velvet depths? Hatred? Loathing?
But she neither smiled nor frowned, simply observing me.
She finally cleared her throat. “I want to apologize. Truly. I thought I listened to your warnings, and…” She closed her eyes for a moment, face pale and strained in the firelight, and shook her head.
“It was pure arrogance on my part. To think I could break a rule and get away with no consequences.”
What was it about her that made my iron resolve melt like wax? If she had been one of my knights, I would’ve thought nothing of cuffing her across the room to grind the harsh lesson in.
This human woman made me feel weak. I hated it, and at the same time craved more.
I should have left her above in the sun.
“I promised your father I would care for you, and I will, but the truth remains: you will learn, or you will die. And if you make a liar of me, fel Arron, I assure you, the Fae relics coming for you will be the least of your worries.”
I bared my teeth in a snarl of intimidation, but instead of leaning away or going pale with fright, the damnable woman narrowed her eyes at me.
“Will you stop that?” she whispered crossly.
My lips closed over my teeth again. My ears snapped flat against my mane. “Stop what?”
“This intimidation nonsense.” She waved a hand. “I get it. You’re huge, you’re strong, oh my, what big teeth you have. But we both know you’re not going to kill me because you need an Artificer. It’s just…it’s disrespectful, is what it is.”
“Disrespectful!” I scoffed, amused despite myself.
“It is.” She jabbed a finger at me, rather disrespectfully. “See? Do you enjoy that? Doubtful.”
I watched her slim forefinger poke at my arm. It felt something akin to a leaf fluttering against me. Entirely inconsequential, except for the strange feeling there was a coal burning against my skin where she touched. “Well…I can’t say I feel it much at all.”
Fel Arron rolled her eyes skyward. “Vampires. Your kind are impossible to deal with.”
“Oh?” A snort escaped me. “Try this, then: women. Irrational, they never listen—”
“Please, I apologized from the heart and I meant it!” She took her finger away, and regret twinged within me. “Also, I am entirely rational.”
I laughed at her, but I kept it soft. Here in this bubble of firelight, there seemed to be only the two of us, and as long as no one looked our way, it was like we were entirely alone.
“No, you are not. If a vampire comes near you, you sidle away like he’s made of poison, even if he’s trying to help.
” She had done so earlier, only coming close enough to the wagon containing human food and her black powder to verify that the wagon did, in fact, contain barrels of the substance, before backing away from Erland as quickly as she could.
Fel Arron’s lips twitched, and she tossed a dark curl over her shoulder. “I don’t like vampires coming too close. That’s hardly irrational.”
“What did you think he was going to do? It’s irrational to think any of us would harm you. We don’t ravish and drain unwilling women. We don’t have to, as plenty come to us for just that.”
But the Artificer’s face went pale, her lips pressing flat, and she stared into the fire fixedly.
I leaned back, examining her, taking in the slightest glaze in her eyes and the way she bit down hard on her lower lip…
What had I said?
Somewhere in the vast, empty space inside me, I flailed in panic.
“Fel Arron…did one of my people harm you?”
She grabbed the kettle from its stand angrily, hissing as she burned her palms, and poured more tea outside her cup than in it.
“Not in the way you’re thinking.” Her voice was as cold as an early Nordrin frost. She stared into the tea cup as though it had personally insulted her family.
“In what way?” I demanded.
“Does it matter?” She finally looked at me, those soft eyes now sharp and focused. “I just don’t like vampires.”
“For what reason? We’ve learned to live among humans.” I examined her tan skin, but there were no bite scars, no silvery holes left by fangs…the only scars on her body were those made by fire, hot metal, or tools. “We have laws against harming you. There is simply no reason to hate vampires.”
“Oh?” Her chin raised, thrusting stubbornly. “Well, Pot, I have someone I’d like you to meet.” She held her hand out to the teapot on the fire. “This is Kettle. I’m sure you’ll be the best of friends.”
For a moment a tingle ran over me, my fur standing on end. How dare she defy me? “Just what do you mean by that?”
Fel Arron raised her brows. “Are you serious? ‘Women are irrational. Women don’t listen’,” she mocked. “Oh, and my personal favorite—‘women are gold-seeking whores’. Have I asked you for gold, Wroth?”
Ah. She must have overheard me complaining to Bram, even as I gave him orders to banish my unwanted betrothed to the furthest reaches of the Rivers in my absence.
‘Gold-seeking whore’ had been the kindest epithet I’d granted her, but Esteri’s similarities to Kajarin in both appearance and personality raised my hackles to the point of near-violence.
Inexplicably, a wave of shame swept over me. “No. I did not intend those words for you.”