“Ves…” Eve breathes my name as her eyes grow wide.
A tiny vine curls around my left wrist, small leaves springing open. Tinier buds pop, revealing indigo petals glowing with a soft blue light.
“What is this?” Eve asks, drawing closer.
Staring in silence, I purse my lips as I search for words.
And fail.
With a tight sigh, I rip at the vine and it vanishes in a burst of dark blue smoke.
CHAPTER TWENTY
For the restof the day, I kept a keen, obsessive watch on my wrist. Waiting to see if the vine and veilflowers would return. I’m not afraid to admit I pulled up my sleeve to check as many times as there are minutes in an hour.
It didn’t return, and thank the gods for that.
Explaining the appearance of Eve’s House brand was difficult enough. Ryc knew little about House brands and their purpose, prompting quite the informative lecture from me. It left me feeling like Lilith during our lessons—only Ryc is an attentive student.
Despite everything I know about the hells, including House brands, my understanding ofstartinga House is undeniably sparse. It was never something I had to consider. I had no reason to. Why would I when I was already a vessel in the most powerful House of the hells?
More than that,matriarch-ledHouses don’t exist.
At least… they don’t in the hells.
I can’t say that for certain about Cerwiden. But if Netharis sculpted the lands to be an echo of the hells, it might be safe to assume the same can be said about the continent across the ocean. Eldoterra was left to be sculpted by Gaia and while there’s no shortage of horrors here, they pale in comparison to those I’d hear from Vaelyn about the dark fae.
I don’t know why Netharis kept me away from those lands in all the centuries I reaped damned souls, but I’m not upset by the decision either.
Settling deeper into the couch before a warming fire, I adjustThe Joiningin my lap. Ryc sits beside me, his arm curled around myshoulders, his own book in his lap.
I’ve made it through Chapter Three of this damn boring book. I would have been able to read more if I could somehow grab rein on my wandering thoughts.
A knock at the door sounds.
“Enter,” Ryc calls, lifting his head.
He glances at me as the door opens and presses a kiss against my brow. Cyran closes the door behind him and approaches with a letter in hand.
“Word from Ashemere,” Cyran says.
My mind snaps to attention and my heart leaps into my throat. TossingThe Joiningonto the couch, I lean over Ryc and snag the letter from Cyran as he stops at the end of the couch.
Ryc laughs as I snap the crimson wax seal.
“The return messenger waits in the foyer,” Cyran adds.
“Guarded?” Ryc asks, watching me unfold the letter.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
The scent of blood hits my nose before I see the near black swirling script.
Not ink.
Blood.
Of course Sabien would return notice in blood. Vampires are truly compelled to be the most dramatic creatures across the realms.
