Sitting against a wall, my knees drawn up to my chest, I turn to Antones. “Is it true, Ant? The Silverknight?” There’s hope in my voice.
“Is what true, lass?” He sits halfway on a chair, eyes only leaving Palacia’s inert body so he can glance at me. His focus has been wholly on my interfolk friend since Skar left, as if he worries she’ll rise like a ghoul and try to eat our brains. The fact she is a person in perpetual transition about to go throughanotherharrowing transition makes me feel sick.
How can I put this another way, without outing myself?“Is the Silverknight the reason the people are in upheaval? What’s their goal?”
“I don’t think Nuhavians have a goal at the moment. It is early days. However, the Silverknight gives them a symbol to follow. He is doing a fine job riling up the masses. The people are tired of seeing their sisters, daughters, and wives vanishing from the city.”
“They’re sick of the slavers, you mean.”
He nods grimly. “And the vampires who came here recently and slaughtered us without rhyme or reason”
Barnabac’s men.I don’t need to point out the Grimsons were once contributors to the slaving. Lukain masked it as “freedom” from our servitude, but the fact is, heboughtmost of the grimmers. The boys trained for fighting, the girls trained for courtship. Both sexes sought their freedom at the shadowgalas in Olhav, where vampires would claim and buy the women from him as broodstock.
It was an ugly, ugly affair, and I hated every second of it.I’d rather Lukain be Overseer Verant, a prison warden, than what he was down here. Somehow it’s given him more humanity.
I can’t forget that as much as I’m drawn to Lukain Pierken and wish my former master to come to the side of “good,” or whatever I represent, his past life was a reprehensible one and should not go unpunished.
It’s a fine line, straddling my desire to change him and the overwhelming knowledge of his past wickedness.
“That knot in your brow will become permanent if you keep it there much longer,” Antones quips, ripping me from my dark thoughts. He gives me a small smile, reaching over to pat my shoulder. “Give your weary mind a break, Sephania.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “If only I could, Ant.”
He readjusts the way he’s sitting, grumbling to himself. “The Silverknight Order hasn’t returned after decades being gone. But this is the spark of something, surely.”
I raise a single brow. He looks contemplative now, rubbing at his chin. “And this man’s identity . . .”
Antones gives me a knowing half-smile, the lines in his cheeks deepening. “You can see for yourself later this evening. He is coming to the Firehold to try and enlist fighters to his cause.” His gaze flicks to Palacia. “Though I daresay vampires won’t be safe once he’s here.”
That’s another reason we need to leave with haste.
When we go quiet, tension hangs in the air between us. Tension that saysI know who the Silverknight is,and with Ant’s silent response being,I know you know.
We don’t need to say it. We don’t need to answer my question.
Rirth is the man calling himself the “Silverknight.” I’m certain of it.After what I gifted him in that rooster-fronted tavern, who else could it be?
Antones sifts over the unsaid bits. “I don’t know who put a fire under this man’s ass, but I must say it’s a sight for these old eyes.”
“You’re not that old, whiner.”
He laughs. Endolf and Jinneth, deep in their conversation, glare at us.
When I feel Ant’s eyes on me again, heat builds behind my ears. “You’re lying for my sake, Antones. Youdoknow. And you know I know.”
He smirks. “You were always too smart for this place. All I will say, is I can only think of a few people in this world the Silverknight would care about enough to listen to, Sephania.”
He drops it there, confirming what we both know is true: Rirth has come alive in an alarming way, taken up arms against perceived enemies, and become a beacon of hope for Nuhav.He’s doing exactly what I told him to do. Yet now that it’s happening, I’m uneasy about it. Perhaps because I’m caught right in the middle of his crusade.
Footsteps sound on the stone outside, and our eyes snap over to the door as Skartovius barrels in. I jump to my feet.
He flings something in his hand across the room, which Old Endolf fumbles with. “It’s all I could get.”
I note the bright glint in the dark room, in Endolf’s hand. A silver nugget.
“Let’s go, temptress,” he commands. “Your old friend here isn’t wrong. We need to get on the road before the proverbial powder keg bursts.”
I nod, turning to my mother as Skar gathers up Palacia gently in his arms. “Mother, come on.”
