Gerith gags some more. Evren laughs. It’s forced, but it’s a laugh.
“Vampires rarely give their blood to humans,” I say. “You’re just jealous.”
Leaning over, I hand Evren the second mirror. “Take this. I’ll be able to talk to you every day.” As long as I win enough money to replenish the aether in my mirror.
Three challenges. That’s all the Sundering is. I win the tria proeliis, and I can leave. As long as I kill the emperor too.
I have the strangest urge to burst into unhinged laughter.
Kill the emperor.
The very idea is absurd.
Grabbing my bag, I steady myself and follow my brothers into the main room.
Carrick is waiting, and I gesture for him to follow me into the kitchen.
“If something happens to me …”
“It won’t.”
“If it does—”
“I know. I’ll find them and make sure they’ll be safe. I’ve got contacts in the north, and I’m going to try to make sure someone will keep an eye on them. Gods, Arvelle …” He swipes a hand through his hair.
“I have to look at this as an opportunity. It’s everything I’ve wanted for my brothers. Evren will be healed. Both of them will be safe, and unless the emperor succeeds in adding Nesonias to his empire, they’ll never have to fight in the Sands.”
“Velle.” He’s looking at me like I’m a ghost.
“As fascinating as this is, it’s time togo,” Bran’s voice comes from the open door behind us.
Carrick leans close. “Keep your head down, your eyes open, and fight for your life,” he mutters.
I nod. “Goodbye, Carrick.”
His face is tight as he watches us leave. And I’m more than happy to go. The last thing I need is anyone else looking at me like I’m already dead.
TRAVELING BY LEYline is usually reserved for vampires and wealthy sigilmarked who are at least half-crowned bronze—although they occasionally bring their mundane servants along with them. I’ve nevereven stepped foot in the nearest ley station, which is three districts north of the Thorn.
Bran is all business, scanning a piece of parchment as we approach the station after sunset. Next to me, Leon is a grim, silent presence, a huge canvas satchel slung over each of his shoulders. He arrived at my house at the last possible second, his expression resigned, his eyes smoldering with fury.
He hasn’t said a word. But he’s here.
Gerith and Evren stare, wide-eyed as we enter the ley station.
The building rises from the ground like a monument. Stone pillars have been carefully etched with sigils that glow gold as we walk by them. The marble beneath our feet is polished to a gleam, the entrance giving way to a huge hall. In the middle of the hall, a statue of Ghaleros dominates the space.
The god of travel and trade towers over us at ten feet tall, his lips curved in a gentle smile. One hand extends forward, holding a coin, while the other clutches a staff topped with a stylized compass. His robes are adorned with his symbols—coins, ships’ sails, carriage wheels. But the most prevalent, carved into his chest, is the symbol for the ley lines—a circle with six curved lines spiraling from the center.
“Come along,” Bran says, and we pass a sigilmarked who pauses to bow his head to the statue before adding several coins to the pile at Ghaleros’s feet.
Bran sneers at the statue. Vampires worship only Umbros, and they enjoy showing contempt for the sigilmarkeds’ gods.
To my right, a group of women walk past the statue. Since they’re sigilmarked—and around my age—they must have fought in the Sands. But from their relaxed body language and easy conversation, it’s almost as if the experience didn’t leave a mark on them. They seem … normal. Happy.
Loneliness cuts through me, sharper than the sword strapped across my back. But there are worse things than loneliness. Like having people in your life, trusting that they’ll always be there, and then losing them.
Evren slips his hand into mine—something he hasn’t done for years. Gerith is tense, his own hand in his pocket, where I’m relatively sure he’s hiding another of my stolen daggers.
