“Arvelle!”
Realization sucks the air from my lungs. Jorah. It’s Jorah.
He must have been alerted when I used the tunnels.
Albion throws up a hand, and the stone floor suddenly becomes slick with ice. I trip, knees cracking against stone, and Albion plucks the knife from the ground. Jorah slides along the floor.
I was doing my best to keep Albion from using his power. Now that he’s used it once, he’ll likely turn to it again.
“Two sacrifices,” he murmurs, eyes darting between Jorah and me. “Mortuus will be pleased.”
His expression has turned crazed. How did everyone miss this? How didImiss this?
Jorah attempts to get to his feet, his eyes widening as he glances between me and Albion. “You’re the one who has been killing the gladians.”
“Sacrificing!” Albion roars, advancing on Jorah.
I need to distract him. “I know you were working with Tiberius Cotta. It was probably his idea, right? He told you you’d see your son again, and you believed him. You killed those people—”
Jorah stares at me, horrified, and I feel a pang in my chest. I wish I could have told him the truth about Tiberius in a gentler way.
“I’m not a murderer!” Albion snaps, his eyes wide.
I push harder. “Youarea murderer, Albion. All that pain you felt when your son died? You’ve caused that pain countless times for other parents. But let’s at least be honest with each other. This isn’t just about your son.”
Albion goes still.
I give him a toothless smile. “You hate the vampires for what happened to your wife. And you know that if Mortuus gets free, he’ll go after them. But most of all, you hate the emperor—because your son died in his arena. That’s why you left that body in the hall the night we met our sponsors. You couldn’t resist humiliating him.”
Move, Jorah.
He’s not moving. Instead, he’s reaching for the knife on his hip. The knife I left him. His hands are shaking, his face so, so pale.
Albion’s gaze flicks toward Jorah and I move a few steps to the left.
Focus on me.
“What would your son think, Albion? What would he say if he could see what you were doing to the people you’ve killed?”
I sidestep, moving even farther from Jorah. “I bet he would be ashamed.”
“I did this for him!” Albion turns on me, swiping out with the knife.
Slash, slash, slash.
I lure him away from Jorah, moving toward the center of the room. I’m faster, but Albion knows every inch of this library. The backs of my knees meet a low table and his blade flashes toward my face as I bend my spine, rolling over the wood.
“You’re ruining everything!” Tears gleam in Albion’s eyes and my skin prickles. He’s unrecognizable as the guardant who trained with Maeva. Who treated all of us with kindness and respect.
Behind Albion, Jorah stands frozen, his eyes wide, his mouth open.
Get. Out.
“This won’t bring your wife back to you. And your son would hate you for what you’re doing,” I say, desperately hoping Jorah will take the opportunity to run. I let the truth sink into my words.
Albion goes still. His eyes widen. He lets out a sound somewhere between a scream and a roar. This time, he doesn’t advance on me. Instead, he whirls, giving me his back as he takes in Jorah, who is still pressed up against a bookshelf, watching us with wide eyes.
Why hasn’t he fled?
