We make it through western Olhav, keeping out of the interiors of the Military and Commerce Wards since we aren’t fullbloods like Skartovius or Vallan, and aim for the southern pass through the Olhavian Peaks. Once we reach the base of the mountain, nearing the high wall encircling Nuhav and the main gate leading into it, I begin to veer off the path to the woods, like we did last time we came here.
Garroway stops me, grabbing hold of my wrist. “Wait. I’d like to see something.”
My brow furrows in consternation as he leads me directly down the road. “I thought you disliked the gatekeepers because they’re nosy and don’t respect you like a fullblood.”
“This isn’t about me,” he says with another wink.
Reaching the gate, I feel nervous. It’s odd, feeling anxious about entering my home of so many years. I’ve been mingling with the enemy of my people for so long now, I’ve practically made it my new home. There’s an irony there—cold and worrying rather than warm and humorous—when I think too hard about it.
The vampire guard at the gate is hooded and looks at us as we approach. He stands directly in the middle of the closed bars, hand near his hip, poised to draw his blade.
“I’m not liking this, Garro . . .” My whisper cracks.
He rubs the small of my back, prodding me forward. “Steel yourself, lass.”
Once we get into the guard’s view, his eyes flash wider and he . . . steps aside. The pureblood gives me a curt bow, muttering,“Lady,” and then moves inside the gatehouse to draw the iron fence open.
We walk through without even stopping our stride.
I’m flabbergasted, staring forward because I fear he’ll recognize his mistake if I look over my shoulder at him. “Did he just call meLady?”
Garroway chuckles. “You’re the Lady of Manor Marquin now, little honey badger. Remember?”
I blink wide at him, gawking.
He lightly slaps my ass as we continue down the road into Nuhav. “I suppose noteverythingwent awry at your outing in Skar’s court, no? First human I can recall being able to pass so easily through the sister cities. You’re an important figure in Olhav now, thanks to our master.”
He’s your master, not mine,I want to say, shaking my head in disbelief. “Lady of Manor Marquin,” I recite, scoffing.
“Much better than Hellwhore or Bitch-Queen, eh?”
“It does ring more elegantly, cub.”
We weave our way through the city. There’s only about three hours of night remaining, so we’ll probably have to find somewhere to sleep in Nuhav unless we rush, and I don’t feel like rushing.
Traveling with vampires is not such an easy thing,I think blithely as we shuffle down the refuse-ridden streets of my old stomping grounds. The roads are practically empty besides the houseless folk, the stumbling drunks, and the shadowy vagabonds watching us from alleyways.
Even with feeling so many eyes on me from the dark patches, I have no fear walking these foul-smelling streets. It isn’t only because I have a strong fighter like Garroway with me; it’s also because I know I can fend for myself and outdo most humans who would try something against me.
Making a southerly path from the north gate, we walk tall, ending up in the district I know too well. We pass the ornate eyesore of the Temple of the True. From there, it isn’t difficult finding the grate and ladder that leads down into the Firehold, the old home and prison of my formative years.
Part of me wonders if it isn’t my incessant, frustrating memories of Master Lukain that brings me right to the Grimsons’ doorstep. It’s like my boots moved on their own through these winding roads and bazaars. It’s shocking to me that I once called this place my own, and these people my brothers and sisters.
There’s no one guarding the hidden ladder in the grate. I descend into the earth first, Garroway swiftly behind me. Once our feet touch the moldy, damp dirt of the underground, three people approach us with weapons drawn. They look half my age and half my size, putting them at around ten to twelve summers old.
“Really?” I say with a frown, hands on my hips. I scold them like the children they are. “Antones has whelps guarding this tunnel,still?”
The trio shrink back, hands trembling on the handles of their rusty weapons. I notice it’s not the sight of such a tall woman scaring them—it’s the pale, ash-kissed appearance of Garroway as he hops down behind me.
“Go and fetch him, little grimmers,” I say, flapping a hand. “I want no quarrel with you.”
Their shoulders sag in unified relief and they scurry off. A few minutes later, the man in question arrives, alone. I figure the whelps told him who came calling—the tall Bitch-Queen—and he doesn’t feel a need for guards.
“Sephania,” Antones says with a formal bow. The thick brow on his aging face bunches together. “Or should I call you Lady Lock now?”
I roll my eyes. “Please, Ant, not you too. There are too many pet names to memorize as is.”
He shoots me a half-smile. It disappears quickly, concern clouding his features. “What brings you under the Floorboards, girl?”
