I bunch his tunic in my hand, squeezing hard. I can’t keep my rage in check, not at the morose sight of my old friend like this. “I didn’t kill Culiar, Rirth, and you know that, deep in your heart. I am sorry for what happened. I regret it every day. But Culiar made his decision to step into that pit. I didn’t force him. Hewantedto kill Peltos. He simply failed.”
Rirth takes my words in with a slack face, blinking only once I’m finished with my spiel. He loses all color in his cheeks when I mention his dead lover.
Then he surprises me. “I’m nothing now, Sephania. The vampires have won, like always. Don’t you see?”
Abruptly, Palacia’s words from the North Mines ring in my head.“It was Rirth who resumed the shadowgalas, because he saw that as the only way for people to find freedom. He said leaving the Grimsons to wallow in Nuhav wasn’t freedom at all.”
And yet, here he was. Doing exactly that.
“What happened, brother?” My voice softens. I release my hold on his collar, brushing off his shoulder. “Who died now, to break you so badly? Palacia told me you resumed the shadowgalas.”
The bleariness rushes out of his eyes. “P-Palacia?” He sits straighter. “You spoke to her?Where?”
“A place called the—”
“Silverblood,” Vallan grumbles behind me.
I close my mouth.Right. Can’t tell humans of the silver mines.“A place in Olhav.”
Rirth barks a disgusted laugh. “So they took her from me too, did they? Bastards.” He pounds his fist on the counter, drawing some attention from the other drunkards. “No one died, Sephania,” he hisses. “I left because I saw the futility in trying to fight for our freedom. Antones lost the fight in him. I tried to take the reins from dead Master Lukain but didn’t have the heart for it. No one died, yeteveryonedied.”
A sigh works its way through me. His sheer shock at learning Palacia is still alive seems odd to me. They were never that close when we lived in the Firehold together.
Palacia’s words come fluttering in again.“I loved them, you know? Rirth, Culiar, Imis, Helget—all of them. But I guess the gang has to split up at some point.”
“I can take you to her,” I say, wondering if Rirth might have found some solace with Pala following Culiar’s death.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep to this washed-up slave soldier,” Vallan growls.
I scowl at him over my shoulder, urging him to shut his mouth. He’s not deterred by my expression.
Grabbing Rirth’s arm, he seems frailer, weaker, which is no big surprise given his current state. “The man I knew would never demean himself to a place like this, Rirth. You’re wrong; everyone hasn’t died.Youare still alive. So why don’t you getyour ass off that stool and start acting like you’re still alive, before it’s too late.”
I hope my words will stir some vigor in his weary bones. My disappointed is immense when Rirth simply waves me off. “Leave me to my miseries and memories, Sephania. We aren’t allies anymore. Your face only reminds me of awful times.”
“Times worse than this?” I spread my arms wide at the brothel and its shady inhabitants. “Times of camaraderie, friendship, and loyalty? You have a twisted sense oftime, old friend.” Before my anger can get the better of me, I turn to leave, feeling disgusted and sad all at once. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a slaver to kill.”
We burst into the upstairs lounge with one well-placed kick from Vallan against the rickety closed door. There are no guards here—no killing necessary. Yet.
The door explodes on its hinges and we rush in. A group of ten people circling various tables rise to their feet. Two of them stream past us in the doorway before we can even settle.
Everyone looks startled, to a man. There are no women in here, just nearly a dozen bedraggled, threadbare men stinking of redcloud and drink. They look more confused than frightened at our intrusion.
“We’re looking for this man,” I say, lifting the parchment of names. I meander through the men, shoving the paper in their faces. At the first man, I say, “He is the seller of a woman named Cyprilis, formerly of the House of the Broken, and may or may not be the father of her—”
From the corner of my eye, a man blurs as he jolts up from the back of the room. He pulls a hood up and rushes toward thedoor, now unguarded by Vallan and Garroway as they stepped deeper into the lounge.
“Sephania!” Garro yells.
I spin around at the fleeing man—
Just in time to see Garro reach into his cloak and fling a dagger across the room. It strikes the man just below the neck, sending him sprawling.
I rush over, kick him onto his side with my sword drawn. Screams and concerned shouting fills the space from the scared-shitless audience.
I look at the parchment in my free hand, then at his groaning, pinched face. Vallan and Garro huddle around me. They look at the drawing, then him. Garro shrugs, Vallan nods firmly.
“Close enough,” I say.
