“I could have shielded you better. Protected you. Moved faster.” Vallan scoffs in disgust at himself, bowing his head in shame. “I shall spend the next weeks training all hours of the night.”
Skar shakes his head. “No time for that, brother.”
Vallan lifts his head, his bushy brow furrowed.
“We’ve started a war,” Skar continues. “Every section of our land, every property we oversee, will need to be on high alert in the coming days. That includes the North Mines.”
“We don’t own the mines, brother,” Vall points out. “They are owned by Overliege Liolen and protected by Overlord Barnabac.”
“Yes. Your master.” Skar’s eyes turn to slits, his voice lowering to a hiss. “We must learn how Barnabac Craxon and his soldiers arrived so quickly in Trithea Plaza. I fear there are more traitors in our midst. You would do well to learn who it might be, Vallan.”
“You’re giving the big ogre mixed messages, Master,” a voice croaks. It’s Garroway, who has his eyes closed as he sweats out the assassin’s tincture. “Vallan can’t protect the North Mines and tail Overlord Barnabac at the same time. He can’t be in two places at once. Onlyyouseem able to achieve such a feat.”
Skartovius angles his head, and I share his confusion at Garro’s statement. The nobleblood wanders over to his thrall, standing over him with his hands on his hips. “Are you resentful of my shadowwalking, graybird?”
Garro snorts with an ugly laugh. I wince, and Skar draws back, looking like he’s been struck by the mere sound. In the past, Garroway would neverthinkto answer his master in such a dismissive tone.My Loreblood is changing all of us, but it’s ruining the connection between Garro and Skar worst of all.
I don’t think it’s your shadowwalking he’s resentful of, Skartovius. I think it’s the loss of companionship with you.
I don’t have the heart to say my thoughts out loud. I only wish to delve deeper into the connection between my two mates—dhampir and nobleblood alike—to see if there’s any way to patch together their bond.Or has my Loreblood forever fractured it, never to be the same again?
I wish to use my Loreblood across Olhav to sever the master-slave bond between countless vampires and their bloodthralls. At the same time, I also have to wonder if there’s any way to reverse the effect once it begins.
To know, I need to learn more.
A decision comes to me then. It’s time.It’sbeentime.
Skartovius leaves the ballroom with chilling words before the night is through. He walks onto the dais and speaks in a booming voice, drawing the eyes and ears of every vampire in attendance.
“We have struck at our enemies and caused mass confusion this evening between the Five Ministries. We can expect Overlord Barnabac and Overlady Alacine to convene, to try and find out who attacked them. They will likely attempt to reshape their alliance, since they’ve killed each other’s people tonight, however unwittingly. This is our opportunity to dig the knife in deeper—to further separate them.
“We cannot rest for long, my court. The knives of rebellion have flashed in the moonlight, and the Five Ministries will be coming for us. I have no doubt Alacine Mortis knows of our involvement tonight, how we’ve duped her. She will want revenge . . . and she will make mistakes in seeking it. That is when we will strike next.”
He makes no mention of the nine vampires that never made it back to his coven. He did tell us many of us would die. I suppose it doesn’t need to be repeated. There is no room for sorrow in this gilded court.
Vampires do not live with sympathy or wounded consciences. It makes no difference to Lord Ashfen how many bloodies were killed, so long as our mission was successful.
If he doesn’t care about the losses tonight, then I suppose I shouldn’t either. Besides, as Helget said . . . these fanged bastards can always make more soldiers.
I slip out of Manor Marquin an hour into dawn, as the sun is beginning to show its glorious face. I am exhausted, and leaving alone is tantamount to treason with how foolish it seems after the night we’ve had.
However, daylight is the time I feelsafestin Olhav, for obvious reasons. The streets of the city will not be crawling with vampires. I have to use that to my advantage.
I don’t take a carriage because I’m not as good at driving the horses as the others. The last thing I need is a broken spoke or wheel to strand me, and to suffer the humiliation of needing my mates to come rescue me on the side of the road.
It takes hours to march into Olhav because of my limping gait. By the time I reach the fringes of the Military Ward, my thighs ache and I labor with every breath.
It’s only been a handful of hours since the attack, but the starkness of day shows how bleak things have already become in Barnabac Craxon’s territory.
Erected pikes line the edges of the ward, with a veritable wall of severed heads sitting atop the spearheads.
The dismal, bloody sight makes me lurch.That was fast.The warning from the Red Butcher is clear: No one is going to get the better of him again, after last evening.
There are many more heads on pikes than there were dead vampires last night, which I find odd. The topped spears line thestreet for at least a mile. Eventually, curiosity gets the better of me and I stake forward to check them out. It’s only when I draw closer and can see the buzzing of insects, the empty eye sockets and lolling tongues on the faces of the impaled heads, that a shocked sound rolls through me.
Most of the heads arehuman. They lack the fine, pale features of vampire corpses, instead showing sickly green pallors and bloodless veins.
The realization is a punch to the gut, nearly doubling me over.Barnabac and his ilk must have gone into Nuhav after the battle last night, spurred by their collective bloodrage, and rounded up humans to slaughter like sheep. Just for this gruesome display.
