“I don’t like this, silverblood,” Vallan says. Judging by Garroway’s expression, he’s in the same camp.
“Your bloodsight will alert you if I’m in danger, no?” I ask.
He frowns through his beard. “It’s been at a steady hum all evening. Every step you take around these vermin puts you in harm’s way.”
I smile. “Then it’ll be easy to sense a spike of alarm if something truly goes awry, my big brute.” I peck him on the cheek and do the same to Garro before stepping out of the carriage.
“I’ll lock onto a rogue rat or something inside,” Garro informs me, “to keep a closer eye on you. Be quick, yes, badger?”
I give them an extravagant bow and salute with my arm against my breasts. “You have my word, my worried bloodsuckers.”
As I make my way across the street to the loud tavern, Garro shouts after me, “We’re not worried! We’re logical!”
His words leave me smiling to myself as I pull my hood up and push into the tavern. The familiar stale stench hits me like a wall. It’s stuffy and disgusting in here. I’m taller than most men, so I can see over their shoulders. Taking a final glance at the picture on the page, I stuff the parchment away in my tunic and meander through the tavern.
No one pays me any attention. The dozens of vagrants in here can’t see my face, for the most part, which gives me easy access to theirs. I make my way past booths, tossing vague glances at every man I pass.
I stop at a table where three men sit, playing cards and yelling at each other. The table is amid a throng of drinkers. A fight breaks out in another part of the Tabernacle, drawing some attention in that direction.
At the table, I spot the man I’m looking for. With how wild and loud it is in here, it’s easy to glide behind him.
I pull a dagger from my belt, opting for the compact, quieter blade. Leaning forward, I whisper, “This is for Sister Cyprilis,” though I’m not sure if he hears me over the din of conversation around us.
Before he can turn his head, I plant my dagger into his neck from behind, severing his spine and leaving the blade there. There’s nary any blood or sound other than a quiet groan as I quickly vanish into the nearby crowd.
The man across from the dead slaver growls, “Hoy, you drunk, man? I said I call. Show me your hand—”
A loudthumpas the man faceplants onto the table, sending coins and drinks clattering. The hilt of my dagger sticks up from the nape of his neck.
“Fuck!” The man launches to his feet. “Doyvon’s been killt!”
I slither through the front door before the search for the assassin can even begin, before the tavern erupts into chaos.
After our successful mission in Nuhav, we return to the mountains. At the end of the evening, Vallan informs me he will be making inquiries about the other four names on the list—vampires one and all.
“They may prove to be more difficult to dispatch,” he says. When he notices my disapproving glare, he adds, “Doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”
“Good. Thank you, boys. We did fine work today.”
“I feel better already.” Vallan stretches his bulky arms over his head. “Nothing like killing wretches to ease the mind.”
“Is there something . . . bothering you, Vall?”
He flaps a hand at me and wanders off toward a room in Manor Marquin. Dawn is swiftly approaching and we all need rest. “Nothing to worry yourself over, silverblood.”
Of course his words only make me more concerned, and I share that expression with Garroway.
“As you said, lass,” he starts once we’re alone in the foyer, “he will tell us when he’s ready, if that day ever comes.”
We’ve had an eventful evening, so the three of us sleep without any raunchiness. It’s sad, because I would love nothing more than a good tumble in bed after such an exhilarating evening, to wind down.
Alas, maybe tomorrow.
I have a strange dream that night, one where I know I’m dreaming, yet that doesn’t make it more palatable. A woman screams in my ear, bleeding from her eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s Lady Belola or Sister Cyprilis. Her face seems to morph between the two, diving in and out of shadowy recesses. Then I’m running through a dismal alley, tripping up as howling laughter trails me. The scent of unwashed men surrounds me, and I jolt up awake when they reach for my hair to pull me up.
It’s thatyankof my hair that wakes me upright, gasping for breath. I look around the quaint bedchamber and realize I’m alone, safe. My heart pounds in my chest.
The last part of the nightmare seemed like a memory rather than nonsense.Cy’s memory, perhaps, of getting stolen by her handlers?
