“And just what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going to see Ruvan.” I glare up at the mountain of a man.
“You’re not needed.”
“I might be able to help,” I say quickly. “With my blood.”
He snorts. “As if a human would ever freely give their blood to the vampir lord.”
They don’t know, I realize. Ruvan never told them what happened—how we survived the Fallen that attacked us. Why? Did he keep it a secret as an honest mistake? It slipped his mind? Though, it’s not as if he’s had much time to casually speak with them. Perhaps the opportunity never arose.
Or perhaps he is ashamed of you; you heard how they spoke of the mere idea of their former king working with a human.
I push away the thought. It’s a silly notion because to be ashamed he would need to think that something significant happened between us. We were surviving, nothing more, nothing less. I also ignore that petty whisper in the back of my mind because…I don’t care what he—they think of me. Of us. Of this. Of whatever is or isn’t happening between us. Because nothing was—is—happening. I don’t care at all. Not in the slightest.
I shake my head and scatter the frantic thoughts. None of it matters when Ruvan is in there, just out of arm’s reach, hurting with an affliction that I might be able to help ease.
“I gave up my blood freely to become his bloodsworn. I did it again—believe me or not—” I add hastily at the sight of Ventos’s expression “—after we escaped the Fallen. And I will now if you let me pass.”
Ventos doesn’t move. He continues to scowl.
“Ventos, please.”
“Let her go, Ventos,” Lavenzia says without rising. “It’s not as if she’s going to hurt him now of all times.”
“But he’s in a weakened state,” Ventos protests. “The bloodsworn oath could falter.”
“The oath is strong,” I insist. “And, even if it weren’t, I swear to you I will not harm him.” I surprise myself with my own conviction, and given his shift in expression, Ventos as well.
Ventos relents. “Fine, go.”
Wasting no time, I enter Ruvan’s bedroom for the first time.
It’s exactly what I would expect based on the rest of the castle: old and crumbling. The back left corner has collapsed. The ceiling barely supported by a few beams that landed in a convenient way. Though, perhaps it’s sturdier than I initially assume since the rubble looks old, as though it all fell in years ago and hasn’t moved since. The window is missing two small panes of glass and wind whispers through. The temperature plummets as I cross the threshold of the door.
Luxury—if it can be called that—clings to the places it can. The marble carvings of orchids around the hearth have been polished. The candelabras placed on the perimeter of the room are oiled to a shine, glinting in the candlelight. A tray is set out on one of the nightstands, holding glistening bottles of amber-colored perfumes and empty bejeweled goblets. The curtains on his bed look almost new. His duvet is embroidered with gold and gems, either new or preserved with some kind of magic.
My assessment of his bedroom halts as Ruvan consumes my attention. His skin is gnarled once more, gone from full with a healthy flush to almost stony. I can see it now,thisisn’t his natural form. When I first arrived here I only saw the monster I expected—no, the monster that Iwantedto see. But the way he is meant to be is not weak and fading. It’s not drawing shallow wheezes through barely parted lips. He’s meant to be strong, and sturdy. As ever-present as the moon itself.
I rush to his bedside, drawn with an urge I’ve not felt since the night of the Blood Moon.Hewas the one that elixir was pulling me to that night. I had sensed him…perhaps in the same way the Succumbed vampir in Hunter’s Hamlet had sensed me in my home despite the salt that lined the doorjamb.
I table the revelation as I take up Ruvan’s clammy hand, wrapping it with my fingers. His eyes are mostly closed, but his lids flutter, as if he’s afflicted by nightmares. Callos is seated next to me on the bed, Quinn on the other side.
“Why is it so bad?” I ask. I want them to have a reason other than me and my dagger. “He was fine mere hours ago.”He even had my blood, I think but don’t say.
“It’s the Fallen’s bite,” Callos says solemnly. “It’s eating him away. Honestly, it’s a testament to his strength that he hasn’t given in yet. But it’s too much… He’ll continue to fade like this until the man he is dies. After that, when his eyes open next, it will be as one of the monsters you saw in the old castle.”
“I gave him my blood to stave it off,” I say. Callos looks surprised, but seems to believe me. “He was fine after.”
“Even if he was…his connection with the curse was deepened greatly with that bite. The curse is increasing its hold on him faster than the rest of us now and every day will become worse than the last,” Quinn says gravely.
“Can I give him more blood?” I ask, my grip tightening on Ruvan. He hardly even moves when I touch him or speak. He’s somewhere else, far away. Somewhere none of us can get to. His magic has never been so thin and frail and it causes panic to rise in me.
“Fresh blood will help, for a time. More than preserved blood will,” Callos admits.
“Then take it.” I thrust out my arm.
“It’s not a permanent fix.” Callos turns to face me, rather than Ruvan. He looks up at me over the frames of his spectacles.
