With our hoods pulled low, we look like three reapers come to exact a toll on humanity, riding atop blackened a carriage of death with blackened steeds.
Citizens yell and shout as they hurry out of the way so they won’t be crushed, Vallan slowing down for no one.
He’s taking this mission just as seriously as I hoped he would!“Move! Get out of the way!” I yell at every blurring body in the road.
We’re quickly through the northern section—the nicer part of town—nearing the throng of rioters that have been rebelling against the Bronzes for weeks now.
“If the swell of people gets too much, we use our feet,” Vallan announces. He’s hyper-focused on his task, shoulders squared, body bent forward to lead the horses.
I nod wordlessly, trying to breathe past a drying throat. The wind stings as it sweeps across my face, biting into my flesh. My eyes burn, and it’s all I can do to keep them open.
We make it to the southern district and the Firehold entrance within two hours of failing to portal through Skar’s shadows. My heart hasn’t stopped hammering since I learned Jinneth’s and Old Endolf’s safety—and their concoction—has been compromised.
On the way here, we streamed past a few groups of Bronzes, their brassy armor glinting in the moonlight as they blurred by. No one tried to stop us—no one had time to try—but I know they won’t be far behind after this ruckus we’ve caused.
As Vallan finally brings the panting horses to a halt, our trio catapults off the bench as one and we draw our weapons. My swords come out in a blur. Garroway is opting for daggers. Vallan brings out his axe, and with another hand reaches into histunic. He produces a small clay pot, and I’m well-versed in what it is by now.That’s what he must have run off to retrieve in the conference room,I think idly. Vall hands the pot to Garro, which causes the dhampir to reel.
“Erm, what am I supposed to do with this, brother? This is your forte.”
Vallan grunts. “Blow shit up, cub. If it comes to it. You’ve seen how to do it.”
“Hehasdone it,” I say, remembering how we escaped this very place months ago while vampire assassins came after us. It was one of Vall’s explosives that saved us and allowed us to escape.
If things get dire—if, Truehearts forbid, we’re too late—use the damned explosive as cover for us to get away.
We won’t be running though,I tell myself.Not without my mother. No matter what awaits us.
The street is empty when we turn the corner to reach the Firehold entrance. It’s a simple grate, hardly noticeable unless you’re looking for it. We run over divots in the ground and I slow my roll when I notice tendrils of smoke rising up through the holes.
“What is it, silverblood?” Vallan asks.
I point at the ground with my swords, at the white smoke that looks like heavy mist. “Lukain once told me these holes signify a match going on below, in the main fighting room of the Firehold. There’s a bonfire lit during a match that sends up a smoke signal onto the surface.”
“So?”
A dull thud brews behind my eyes. “Antones ended the matches. There are no more bouts in the Firehold . . .”
“So why is there smoke rising through the ground?” Garroway finishes for me.
With panic rising in my chest, I give my men a look—
Freezing at the blur of blackness directly over Vallan’s shoulder.
“Vall!” I scream.
He wheels around with his enormous axe, swinging in a wide arc, not bothering to ask what’s behind him.
A sinewy figure ducks under the arc, rushing the monolithic vampire and shoving a blade into his side.
Vallan grunts—this one sounds pained, yet he remains undeterred as usual. He stares down at the pale face of the vampire holding the sword. Before the attacker can pull his blade from Vallan’s side, my mate grabs the fucker by his thin throat.
Vallan lifts the vampire off the ground, legs kicking, and bellows monstrously in his face. The vampire assassin drops his blade to clutch at his neck, a gurgle spilling past his lips. Vallan brings his other arm across, wielding his axe like it weighs nothing, though the damned thing is as tall as I am, and I’m not a short woman.
He lets go of the vampire’s neck at the last second—
Just as the curved blade arcs, displaces air, and strikes home, ripping through flesh and bone like butter and bread.
The assassin’s body falls to the ground, while his head remains in Vallan’s grip, spilling a fountain of gore onto the dismembered corpse.
