The emperor sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Apologize, Rorrik.”
Rorrik gives Tiernon a victorious smile. “I apologize, brother.”
I stare at them, blood pouring from my leg, my vision beginning to turn blurry at the edges.
I’ve failed.
Movement to my left.
The newly turned vampire lunges at me, and his sire wraps his leash around her wrist. The vampire rams forward again and again, snarling, bloody spit flying from his mouth.
The emperor lets out an annoyed hiss. “Really, Emala?”
“I apologize, Dominus. Darinth is still learning control.” With a sigh, she uses a claw to slice open her own wrist, holding it out for him. Darinth falls on it like a starving dog falling on a bone.
“I suggest you remove your bleeding imperium, Tiernon,” the emperor says, as if his youngest son is the one responsible.
With a sharp nod, Tiernon steps toward me. I reach for the blade lodged in my thigh and he catches my wrist.
“You know better than that.”
I do know better. From the dizziness sweeping through me, removing the blade could make me bleed out. And several members of the Vampire Council are still avidly watching the blood dripping down my leg.
Tiernon hauls me into his arms and strides toward the door. I open my mouth to tell him about Bran’s orders, and my throat closes.
My mind races and I squeeze his arm as he leaves the room.
“My brothers ….”I can say that much at least.
Tiernon stiffens. And rage flickers in his eyes. That was all I needed to say, and he understands. I had no choice.
“We’re going to get them back, Arvelle,” he murmurs. “Ever since Leon told me it was Bran, I’ve been working with Carrick to find them.”
I stiffen, momentarily distracted from the blade in my thigh. “You’ve been working with Carrick?”
He nods, moving down the long corridor with me.
Something warm spreads through my chest. Tiernon was always jealous of Carrick. He loathed that he was free to spend as much time with Kassia and me as he wanted, while Tiernon had to constantly sneak into the Thorn. When Tiernon began turning, Carrick made the mistake of complaining about a sunburned neck in his presence and Tiernon almost killed him. They were never friends. But they’re working together for my brothers. For me.
“It was difficult to get to your brothers when they were in the north, even with my spies and Carrick’s contacts,” Tiernon murmurs in my ear. “But Bran has recently brought them into my territory. I’m going to get them back for you, Arvelle. I promise.”
Tears prick my eyes. “I didn’t … succeed tonight,” I say, and my throat tightens warningly. “What if …”
I can’t say the words, and Tiernon shakes his head. “Bran will know what Rorrik did. And he won’t be stupid enough to remove his leverage so soon.” Tiernon turns down a familiar corridor and I close my eyes as memories of walking this same corridor with Rorrik flash through me.
“You need to keep your helmet on when you see this healer. I don’t want my father to know it was you.”
“Fine.”
The healer tuts at the sight of my leg. “At least you left the blade in. Do you need to leave the room, Primus?”
Tiernon’s face is tight, his jaw clenched, and he sends me an apologetic look. “I haven’t … fed.” Shame flickers through his eyes and I squeeze his hand. Even with Tiernon’s self-control, I don’t want to torture him. “Go.”
He must be starving, because he doesn’t argue, just sends the healer a warning look and walks out the door.
As the Primus, Tiernon could have fed from any of the mundanes sitting beneath the table at that dinner. He didn’t, because I was there. Because he already thinks of himself as a monster, and he can’t bear the thought that I would think of him as one too.
My neck begins to burn. I slap a hand over it, but the healer is already turning away, reaching for crystals, healing tonics, and herbs.
