The dipped chins lower further, many of them bowing to their chests as a sign of respect.I’ve trained them well.
“I would also like to make an announcement regarding ourcause.”
Garroway’s back stiffens beneath the dais where he stares out at the guests. Beside me, Sephania does the same. I can sense her energy shift, nervousness taking hold even though she knew this was coming.
“A fortnight from now,” I announce, “Lady Lock will be meeting personally with Overlord Barnabac Craxon.” I wait for the rush of insipid talk and alarm to run its course through the audience before continuing, folding my hands in front of me. “She will be acting as our ambassador, convening on somewhat neutral ground at Trithea Plaza on the edge of the Military Ward.”
“Ambassador, my lord?” Demilord Tymon pipes up. He’s one of the only ones with the nerve and status to openly question me. “For what objective, might I ask?”
“It seems, my friends, the Military Minister is finally ready to hear us out. Our objective is to persuade Overlord Barnabac to our cause.”
The voices rise in earnest, some whispering objections or confusion, others excited at the prospect of having Barnabac and the soldiery of Olhav on our side.
“After all,” I finish, raising my voice above the din, “no vampire worth their blood can deny themselves an influx of power for very long. That is what we are providing.”
As the conversations resume, I return to my seat. Sit back and watch the scene play out.
Sephania leans over, whispering, “What now?”
“Now, my queen, we wait and follow the shadows . . .”
Chapter 17
Sephania
“How can I help?” Garroway asks from my side.
I stand with him and Skar on a second-story balcony, overlooking the courtyard as the vampires get into their carriages to leave. Some of them sway, drunk off the intoxicating bottles of blood Skartovius provided them.
Skar says, “You can ply your trade, cub.” He stares over the balcony with his arms crossed, like a general surveying a battlefield.
“Outside of Sephania’s orbit, the range on my beast-charming is less wieldy, more fractious,” Garro points out. “It all stems from her.” The dhampir gives me a smile from the other side of Skar, which makes me smile in turn. We reach behind our master and hold each other’s hands, pretending like he can’t feel our presence directly behind his cloak. With his blood coursing through our veins, he can surely feel us, though he makes no comment about our scandalous hand-holding.
Instead, Lord Ashfen taps his chin, mulling over Garro’s words, evidently lost in thought. “The range of your power depends on Sephania’s whereabouts in relation to you? Makes sense. My shadowwalking acts much the same way. I’ve learned Icanshape other shadows, but the manipulation is easier when close to our little temptress, and easiest when using her shadow.”
While he waxes analytical about their Loreblood-borne powers, I chuckle when one of the vampires in the courtyardstumbles on the step into his carriage and voices a loud curse as he crashes inside his wagon out of view. “I’ve never seen a more useless, chaotic group of bloodsuckers,” I say cheerily. “You sure there was only blood in those bottles, love?”
“Oh, surely not. When I filled the Lusher bottles years ago, I added a toxin to keep them fresh. The added effect is something of a debilitating drunkenness.”
I reel. “You . . . poisoned your own court? Why?”
Skar turns on his heels and pats me on the shoulder as he passes. “Compliance, love. They leave here in a state of euphoria, not remembering any of it the next evening . . . only that they want to chase the high again as soon as they can.” He pauses at the arched doorway of the oval-shaped balcony. “There was one specific brigand who received no Lusher tonight, because I want him lucid. Cub, with me.”
As Garroway hurries after his master into the mansion, I follow suit, starting to understand we’re all just pieces on the gameboard for Skartovius Ashfen to manipulate, and maybe Lukain wasn’t lying after all.
My lip nearly bleeds from how hard I’m chewing it, watching Garroway’s eyes dart back and forth beneath his closed lids.
Skar has positioned us in the same study room we defiled earlier in the evening. Garro sits on the floor with his legs crossed. His face is starting to sweat, and Ifeelsomething of his dire situation in my head, anxiety roiling inside me. I don’t have a bloodbond with the dhampir like Skar does, yet I’m starting to sense my Loreblood has more of a coupling effect between us than I realized.
Garroway has tasted my blood a handful of times now. Usually during sex, for the added . . . benefits . . . but also attimes when I needed to heal him. Skartovius hates hearing about it, because each new draw from my blood further severs his connection with his bloodthrall and seems to transfer it to me.
It was the same with Dimmon Plank, unfortunately. Before Dimmon died, Skartovius turned him, to make his suffering last an eternity and revisit new agonies each day. The moment my Loreblood touched his lips to heal him, Dimmon began calling me his “mistress.” His bond engulfed Skar’s and grabbed onto me, which I hated.
It was partly the reason I ended Dimmon during my public outing at the shadowgala—shoving a stake through his mouth and then into his heart. I couldn’t stand to feel the thoughts or internal torments of my damned rapist for another second. Had Skar known that would happen, I like to think he wouldn’t have turned him.
I can’t carry on a mental conversation with Garro like Skar can. There’s a hint ofsomethingthere though, pulling at me and unifying my anxiety with the nervousness he must be feeling while on his mental adventure.
We’ve been locked in this room for an hour. Skar stands over his cub’s shoulder, a few inches away, and I can tell by his furrowed brow how much he truly cares for his bloodthrall, even if he’d never admit it in public. He’s worried something might happen to Garroway on his excursion out into the wild.
