Gerith swings uselessly at the vampire, straining against Carrick’s hold. “One day I’m going to kill you.”
Bran rakes him with an unconcerned look, then turns to me. Even with his heavy cloak, he must have paid more money than I can even imagine for the sun tonic that allows him to be out at this time of the day. Those sun tonics are rumored to turn vampires mad, but Bran certainly doesn’t seem to be suffering.
“We leave in two hours.”
“Two hours?”
“I’ve wasted enough time here. Be ready to leave. And, Arvelle”—hesmiles—“a deal is a deal. If you try to run, I will kill both of your brothers.”
Turning, Bran disappears. The blood drains from Carrick’s face as he releases Gerith.
“What was that, Velle?”
I open my mouth but can’t find a single word. I’ve just dug my own grave.
Dimly, I’m aware of Gerith helping Evren to his feet. Tears slip down Evren’s face as he stares miserably at me.
My lips are numb, but I force my next words out. “Carrick, I need you to stay with them for a little while.”
He takes a step toward me, arms already outstretched. “Don’t do this. Maybe … maybe you can askhim.”
Just minutes ago, he was reinforcing that I have no one else to turn to. I let out a hollow laugh. “Even if I could find Ti, do you truly think he would care?”
He left me on the worst day of my life. And a small part of me—a stubborn, cantankerous part I’m not particularly proud of—would rather die than ask him for anything.
I push the thought away. I’m running out of time.
“Look after them until I’m back. Please.”
Carrick nods, and with one last look at my brothers, I break into a run, feet pounding along the cobbled streets. I can’t fall apart. There’s no time. But heat sears my eyes, and my throat swells until each breath burns like acid.
Two hours.
I sprint past taverns and fountains. Past Perrin’s apothecary and the small market where I was supposed to refill our aether stones tomorrow. I push through crowds, ignoring curses and yells. I dodge around obstacles, bolt through alleys, until finally,finally, I reach the outskirts of the Thorn.
If this is happening—and some part of me is still sure it’snothappening—I have one chance.
Leon.
He still lives near the woods, next to the large clearing where his daughter and I once trained every day for years leading up to our turn in the Sands. Back then, this cottage was charming, with a large vegetable garden next to the roses Kassia babied. The roses we used to pick and sell to nobles.
Now, the fence has fallen in places, and the roses …
I slow to a walk, attempting to catch my breath. My stomach turns, and a sour, rancid taste climbs up my throat. Once, the twins considered Leon to be their surrogate grandfather.
But that was before I failed.
I force myself to walk up the steps, not bothering to knock. He won’t answer anyway.
A few weeks after Kassia died, I left food by this door. The animals ate it, the man inside too stubborn to take what I was offering. When I’d returned, I hadn’t been able to stifle my bitterness at the waste.
I’d slammed open his door and roared at Leon that the bread had come from my brothers’ dinner that week, and he hadn’t even had the decency to pretend to eat it.
He’d snapped back that I was too cowardly to face him after costing his daughter her life.
The accusation wasn’t anything I hadn’t thought myself. And yet I would’ve rather swallowed poison than hear those words from him.
Leon had stared at me, regret shadowing his eyes, but his blunt chin had jutted out. He’d refused to apologize. That was fine. We both knew I didn’t deserve apologies.
