I cringe at the sound of the man’s screams echoing through the dingy holding cell.
Glintov, a weaselly man from Lord Ashfen’s court, has seen better days. He’s strung up in the room with his arms above his head, manacles rattling against his wrists as he writhes in pain.
My mother Alacine brought me here, to one of her many dungeons, presumably so she could show me what happens when someone fails her. I know I’m not at the same risk of sharing Glintov’s grim fate because I’m her son, and yet, the chances of her exacting vengeance upon me is never zero.
My dark-haired broodmother slides a silver tipped dagger against Glintov’s concave torso, gently rubbing the blade over his protruding ribcage. I have no idea where she obtained such a dangerous weapon. I doubt it’s the only one she possesses.
Shirtless, he’s gaunt, and clearly hasn’t fed in days, drawing out a maddened, ravenous hunger inside the vampire. One simple nick of his rubbery flesh will ignite him in fire from the silver blade.
But she doesn’t want that. Alacine Mortis wants Glintov to suffer for his failure. So she wrenches agonizing cries from him by merely touching the silver against his exposed skin.
Blisters form and pop wherever the blade touches, oozing out pus and blackened blood. “P-Please, Overlady, have mercy! I didn’t know!”
“You didn’t know your secrets were unsafe? You didn’t know you were followed?” Alacine purrs to herself, her back to me as I stand in the doorway of the cell. It takes everything inside me not to turn and leave the room, yet she hasn’t dismissed me to leave. So I stay unmoving, watching and wincing.
I am only marginally bloodbonded to Alacine Mortis. Being her son, I was born half-vampire, half-man, and the mental and physical hold she has over me is tenuous at best. But she is still my mother, and I know how dangerous she is. I do what I’m told when in her vile presence.
I’m slightly ashamed at the opportunities Alacine has given me over the years. Even when I was hidden away from the Five Ministries as a youngling, she saw that I wanted for nothing. I was able to build a life in the Nuhavian underground, growing to be a formidable leader of a ragtag group of fighting humans. My grimmers, my Grimsons. I was proud of what I accomplished with my gang, even if many of my favorite members died or were taken as broodstock while seeking their freedom.
When Skartovius Ashfen stuck me with the silver saber—smoking my body rather than blazing it, because of my weaker vampiric blood—it was Alacine who brought me back from the brink of death. She stole me away into the night when Skar and his court believed I was dead, vanishing into the shadows as only the Spymistress could.
I was given a new chance at life as Overseer Verant in Sutlis Spire, where I lorded over some of the most dangerous prisoners of Olhav. Lukain Pierken was dead, and with my new identity I was safe from retribution from the Five Ministries.
Until Sephania Lock arrived and fucked everything up for me. I wish I could hate her. Even now, I’m too drawn to her to think of her with any malice. In fact, part of me isgladshe escaped Sutlis Spire, against all odds. It’s given me new opportunities to see her and try to win her over.
It’s certainly an uphill climb, since we are on opposing sides of this conflict in Olhav. I hate her master Skartovius with every fiber of my being. All I can do is try to turn her against him; make her see the truth.
“Tell me who you spilled your skeletons to, dear Glintov,” Alacine says in her raspy voice, drawing me back to the grisly present.
The poor bastard is already missing all the fingers of his left hand. The shackles hanging from the ceiling are merely holding a stump in the air. I would like to draw my sword and plunge it through his dead heart, but I know Mother will never allow that. Not until she sucks every bit of information out of him that she can.
“I-I already told you, Mistress . . . I d-don’t know,” Glintov croaks. “I swear I was silent and c-cautious as ever after leaving Lord Ashfen’s court to t-tell you of the impending meeting b-b-between Sephania Lock and Overlord B-Barnabac.”
“Overlord B-B-Barnabac,” Alacine teases before chuckling and drawing her silver dagger lightly against his chest, leaving puffy pink scars in its wake.
Her cruelty makes me frown.In a world of wickedness and evil, how is it I managed to have the vilest of them all as a mother?“Have you not gleaned enough from the poor wretch, Mother?” I ask. “Perhaps it’s time to—”
“Youdo not speak,” she rasps over her shoulder, her red eyes shimmering. “Your time will come shortly, little sapling.”
I recoil, unaware she saw me in the same light as this double-edged traitor.Why is she angry atme? All I did was fight on her behalf during the ambush at Trithea Plaza!
A cold chill inches up my spine. Perhaps she didn’t simply bring me here to watch the unpleasant festivities . . . but brought me here to partake. The thought frightens me and makes my body go taut.
Glintov has been Alacine’s spy in Skartovius’ court for years. Something went awry over the past few weeks—or longer, perhaps—and it’s obvious what happened.
Fearing retribution, I say as much despite the danger. “Glintov clearly was discovered as a spy and given false information to relay to you, Mother. Thus, the ambush at Trithea Plaza, where we were stationed to ambush Sephania’s traveling entourage. We were outsmarted. There. Is that what you need to hear?”
With a frustrated growl, Alacine throws down her silver dagger with a clang and lifts her shoulders. “You take all the fun out of it!”
“This is fun for no one but you, Mother.”
“Exactly.” She spins on me, then thinks better of it and draws a separate dagger from the folds of her black robe. This one is rusted, tinged copper and green, and it makes my nose wrinkle at the sight of it. “Fine,” she complains, and then turns to Glintov.
I look away as Alacine begins stabbing into the vampire over and over again, the sounds of wet flesh and fresh blood spilling onto the cold stone floor. Glintov doesn’t howl at his treatment this time—he simply grunts and sobs as my mother rapidly puts twenty new holes in his torso.
At the end of it, she cracks his chest cavity open with the force of her angry strikes, howling, “Perhaps you’ve learned your lesson now, Glintov!”
Her final plunge spears through Glintov’s heart, with her hand wrist-deep in a cavernous hole in the center of his chest.
