Chapter 19
Jesamin
Rasmus stared down at the Gates, his lips pressed so tight they had gone grey. His hand trembled on the hilt of the sword he wore, fingers convulsively clenching.
I half expected him to break and run, to fight the geas, but he only exhaled slowly, closing his eyes and squaring his shoulders. “Jesamin,” he said softly.
“Yes?”
Rasmus opened his eyes. He blinked like he was crying, but his eyes were dry and tired.
“Alvar asked me to come with him. I knew he was looking for weapons to kill a fiend. I knew he’d been talking to the loyalists on Mother’s behalf for the last ten years, taking up the place she carved for him.
I knew he was the one they meant to see on the throne.
I knew, one way or another, people were going to end up dead. ”
I held still, saying nothing, wondering what brought on this sudden confession from a man I'd genuinely believed would never harm another living soul.
“I had gambling debts in the Collegium. There was…even with Mother’s trust money, there was no way I could repay them. The men I owed weren’t the kind of men you run out on. So I stole it from Lord Wroth.”
Wroth, speaking in whispers with Marrion and our remaining four knights a good twenty feet away, swiveled one ear in our direction.
“I stole five thousand gold marks from his treasury over the last four years,” Rasmus said, as monotone as a dead man.
“Alvar knew. And if I refused to aid him, he would sell the secret of my thievery to Lord Wroth. I believed there was no chance of Alvar finding his weapons, so what harm was there? If we found gold I’d be saved.
We would be in and out, none the wiser, and I would take ship for Serissa the moment we left, and Lord Wroth would never know of my theft.
I wouldn’t be drawn and quartered or bled for his meals.
I wouldn’t have boiling oil poured down my throat. Nothing would come of it.”
Marrion’s quick murmurs had fallen silent. Even she stood still, watching Rasmus, who still stared at the Gates.
And I realized he was confessing because he fully expected to meet his death here.
His lips tightened. “I never thought I could be such a coward. I never wished any harm on any of you. But every day, the hole seemed deeper and deeper…and I didn’t know what to do.
So when Alvar told me to join him or confess…
I came. Even when I knew what I was doing was wrong.
Even though I never believed in Mother’s ridiculous little tea parties where they chanted about honor and purity and all that bullshit.
I knew what I was doing here was wrong…but I still did it, because I was afraid.
And now I wish I had just taken the noose.
Maybe your people would be alive then. Maybe the men Alvar hired would be alive.
Maybe none of this would have come to pass if I’d been dead, and we would all be better off for it. ”
Wroth sighed heavily, reaching up to rub at the base of his horns. Finally, he strode over and looked down at Rasmus.
I waited, almost cringing, for the slap that would finally break him.
But Wroth didn’t look furious, or even vengeful. He just looked…tired.
“Don’t wish yourself dead,” he said. “You were only ever a foolish pawn, but if Kajarin ever had any good in her, it all went into you. If you make it through this, you have the rest of your life to atone for the lives lost. I won’t call it forgiveness, but it’s a start.”
Rasmus’s eyes finally rose to meet Wroth’s. “Alvar has been down here for so long,” he said. “What if he found the weapons he needed? What if we go down, and he kills you the moment he sees you?”
Wroth’s clear weariness vanished as he snorted. “If he had these weapons, he would have come for me already. Don’t fear him, Rasmus. He was only ever a desperate little cretin, searching for that which doesn’t exist.”
As he strode away, tail lashing, Wroth called back over his shoulder, “You must survive this. I intend to wring five thousand gold marks’ worth of alchemy out of you, as a beginning to your atonement.”
I watched Rasmus’s lips twitch, and finally smile. It didn’t last long, but it was something.
“If I live, I will spend the rest of my life making up for what I’ve done,” he whispered. “And every moment of it will be worth it.”
I touched his shoulder briefly. “It will be, because I know there’s good in you, Rasmus.”
“Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You’ve never done a damn thing wrong in your life.”
My eyes slid to Talos, motionless at the top of the stairs.
I thought of the weapons I’d designed, weapons that could maybe…
just maybe...kill a fiend. “I have. I just came to my senses before I could make it any worse. I should thank the gods every day that Renaud left me when he did, or it might be me that Wroth would be hunting now.”
Rasmus shook his head, almost smiling again. Now that he’d confessed his crime to Wroth, he seemed lighter, even with the weight of the city’s atmosphere pressing down on us. “Renaud’s still an idiot. I mean, I’m an idiot and even I can see that.”
I almost laughed despite myself. But as relieved as I was that Rasmus would have a chance to redeem himself, the crushing weight of Liuridar wiped away all good feelings.
All I could feel was trepidation at our descent.
We both sighed, almost in unison, and exchanged a rueful glance.
“Here we go, then,” I said, and we approached the fiend and sanguimancer before the stairs, both of them looking tense. The reason was immediately apparent.
Marrion’s fingers tapped at the leather cylinder slung over her shoulder, the one containing the maps, but she made no move to lay them out.
Instead, she looked down at her own hand with a grim expression, fingers splayed.
Even with the healing ability of a half-vampire, her palm, wrist, and forearm were thick with scar tissue, the cuts made in preternaturally neat lines, ranging from a deep, angry maroon for the freshest cuts, and a whitish-silver for the oldest.
“From here on out, you’ll be blind but for my Eye,” she said, flexing her fingers. “You cannot go without me.”
Wroth gazed at her, his pale eyes considering. “I would rather be blind entirely than have you go through, Marrion,” he finally said. “Against my better judgment, I thought to bring you as far as Liuridar itself, but now…I find that I cannot risk you any further. You will go with Silvain.”
He turned to the knight. “You will return to Liuridar, and use a different bridge. Climb the walls to reach the crevasse, retrace our precise route, and recall every knight and porter to the surface immediately. Inform Bram the Gates have been breached. Make sure he knows that I’m going in.”
Silvain shifted in place with a nod, awaiting her. He lightened his load, dropping supplies and a barrel of bloodpowder right there on the ground to make the journey as quick as possible.
I hoped Marrion would take the proffered escape, and knowing from the set of her jaw that it was hopeless before she even spoke.
She laughed without humor. “Oh no, Uncle. If you’re all going, so am I.”
“Your parents—” Wroth started to say, and cut himself off.
Her eyes flashed, and she clenched her blood-stained palm into a fist. “What? Do you think they’d stand back and let everyone else go without them? Please. Mother would already be down those stairs.”
“Your mother is old enough to understand the risks.”
“As am I!” Marrion slapped her bloodied hand to her chest. “I’m old enough to consider marrying myself off like a broodmare to the prince of Foria. I’m old enough to go Below. Hell, I’m older than my father was when he started killing wargs! Which means I’m old enough to fight beside you, Uncle.”
He growled, baring his teeth, and looked away. “Gods, must I deal with this here?”
“You’re too close to see it,” Rasmus said sagely, and I was amazed he didn’t immediately recoil under the force of their combined glares. “If she was anyone else, would you let her go?”
For once, Marrion didn’t sneer at Rasmus; she lifted her chin and gazed expectantly at her uncle, clearly confident she knew exactly what he would say.
Wroth cut a narrow-eyed glance at Rasmus. “Do not make me regret giving you a chance to live.”
“It’s a fair question,” I said quietly. At her age, I was alone in Argent, designing weapons under the auspices of the Collegium with my father’s blessing to do what I chose in life.
There was no woman who wished to be held back by the fears and worries of others when she knew what she was capable of achieving, and yet, there were so many men who seemed to feel the need to do just that.
And maybe Wroth read some of that in my eyes, because he closed his, his shoulders slumping. “Yes. Were she anyone else, I would order her to go.”
Marrion’s triumph lasted only a second. She reached out to touch Wroth’s hand. “Uncle. I do this not for the sake of my own pride, but because you need me. All of you.”
“I know, my favorite niece,” he said, patting her hand before she released him. “I know.”
“Only niece.” There was a ghost of a smile on her lips, but it faded quickly. We were all feeling the weight and strain of Liruidar upon us now.
“Very well.” Wroth sighed, and looked at Silvain. “Quickly then. Pull everyone, and get the message to Bram as fast as you can. Good luck.”
Silvain pressed his fist to his chest, and then moved back into the city at a speed that would put humans to shame.
We were down to three knights—Nikos, Erland, and Aleyn—and soon the Below would be empty of any back-up. I tried not to feel sick at the thought of being totally alone; but if Silvain moved quickly, perhaps Bram could form a new plan.
Wroth nodded to Marrion, straightening up, and she pulled a knife with professional coolness. She angled it against her palm and began neatly cutting the Eye open again.