Typically, the older a vampire is, the more power they have. But that’s not always true. I’ve heard of centuries-old vampires who can barely manage a basic shield, while others just a few years turned will radiate raw, untamed power.
Those who are sired by the Firsts are powerful from the moment they begin to transition. And those who are naturally born of the Firsts?
I shiver. Bran gives me a pleased smile.
“Here are the terms of our agreement: You will enter the Sundering as a gladian. While you’re training with the other gladians, I will attempt to give you information that may help you in your task. You will not strike at the emperor until after the Sundering, when I say it is time. You will not tell the Primus of your plans. You will not warn either him or the emperor.”
He pauses, as if waiting for me to argue, and I stare at him. The Primus is the leader of the imperius—the emperor’s elite cohort.
“I may not be a trained assassin, but I’m not an idiot.”
“Once the emperor is dead, I will heal your brother and release both of them. You may join them in the north.”
“No. Evren can’t wait that long. I want him healed now.”
Bran slowly peels himself away from the door. “And lose my leverage? No.”
“We both know you’ll still be holding my brothers hostage. That’s more than enough leverage.”
His smile is small, pleasant, his fangs tucked neatly away. “A compromise. Your brother’s lungs will be healed once you have completed the Sundering.”
“No.”
His eyes harden. “Yes.”
My nails slice into my palms, and I release my clenched fists before Bran smells blood. He just ensured I can’t throw any of the challenges. I’ll have to win all three in order for Evren to be cured.
I let out a low growl. “There are thousands of people training to be in this exact position. And likely hundreds more who could get close to the emperor. Why did you decide to stalk me?”
He frowns at the wordstalk. “Anyone who has made it this far and entered the emperor’s arena is already there for their own reasons. You, however, don’t want to be there. You were neverplanningto be there. Which makes your hands clean. Exactly what I need for my purposes.”
A chill slides down my spine. Every move I’ve made was to ensure I’d never have to fight for the emperor again. It’s bitterly ironic that those very steps have led me right back to this exact situation.
Can I really become a cold-blooded murderer?
Evren’s face flashes before my eyes, his lips blue, the muscles in his neck straining as he fights for air.
I take a deep breath. Vallius Corvus is a monster. His obsession with conquering and collecting kingdoms to force beneath his own banner has cost countless lives—both in Senthara and across this continent. And when force doesn’t work, he sends his imperius out topersuadeforeign rulers to hand over their crowns.
His taxes are crippling. He provides few services to the poorest of his subjects, all while bragging about the progress he has created within the empire.
But most important …
He’s the reason Kassia is dead.
Meanwhile, Bran took one look at the Thorn—at my life—and decided I was nothing but a tool he could use for his purposes.
He thinks I’m weak. Broken. Easily manipulated.
He’s going to learn otherwise.
To his credit, Bran doesn’t draw it out. He rattles off our amended agreement, then leans down, one cold hand taking my chin and tilting my head with practiced ease. His sharp fangs sink into my neck.
My hand slides instinctively down toward my knife. Bran catches my wrist, squeezing until it cracks.
A scream rips from my throat, and he releases me. “Must you be so difficult about everything?” Sharp teeth slice into his own wrist, and I instantly shake my head, stepping back.
With a sigh, Bran moves too fast for me to evade. He shoves his wrist against my mouth, clamping his hand onto the back of my head and holding me in place.
