“Seems wise.” Antones grunts as he pushes off the wall. “To think, Seph, we’re running the city from the underground. The Grimsons aren’t the undiscussed, overlooked, ignored organization it once was under Master Lukain, full of vagabonds and outcasts.”
“No, I suppose it’s not. We’re still outcasts, Ant. We’re just the good guys now. So long as we’re helping the people.”
“Might be that a new central headquarters is needed for you soon. Something on the Floorboards. Larger. Closer to the people. Your bald dhampir won’t have to play damage control if you’re out among the public.”
I get the hint he’s telling me my time in the Firehold is coming to a close. I don’t want to dig into that.Can’t we just have this nice thing for a moment, and not speak of the future in such cryptic terms?“Skar and Lukain would say putting me in the public eye would put me in harm’s way. Vallan would grunt in agreement. Garroway would make a lewd joke about it. Probably something about too many cocks being too close to me for their liking.”
Antones smiles. “You aren’t getting evicted, lass. It was just a thought. Think nothing of it.”
I match his smile, and for a moment, staring at my aging friend with his stooped shoulders and leathery face and bristlygray beard that’s been growing in patches over the past month, I want to hug the man.
Before I can, he says, “There’s other good news, I think. You have a surprise visitor. I nearly forgot why I dragged my gimpy ass all the way out here.”
“Oh?”
He shoots me a mischievous smile that reminds me of the younger Ant, the one who would haul dresses over his shoulder to take to the distraught Grimdaughters down here, to try and show them some semblance of nicety before they were whisked away as broodstock at the Olhavian shadowgalas.
Yes,I think,we truly have come a long way, dear Antones.
Captain Rirth waits for me in Antones’ personal living quarters. The vertically challenged man has a head newly shaved of hair, bristling at the ends, and there’s a slight tilt to his lips. He seems . . . different. Not quite as scowly and angry as he’s been ever since I riled him from his drunken stupor, gifted him a silver dagger, and inadvertently set this whole Silverknights operation into motion.
“Rirth,” I say warmly, walking forward to greet the man. Though I’m a head taller than him, he still has an intimidating aura because I know how good he is with a sword. That, and he’s quite handsome, even in his middle age now. There are deep grooves in his cheeks, a firm mouth and set jaw, and deep, chestnut eyes.
I hesitate a few feet from him, not sure if we should embrace or if we’ve crossed that threshold yet in our tenuous alliance.
At the end of the day, my mates are still his enemies. And his Silverknights can’t be trusted to do the right thing—not if theTruehearts are involved. They follow Rirth, and Rirth is but a man, not a paragon.
“Well met, Sephania,” he says with a formal dip of his chin. “Will you walk with me?”
We leave Ant’s quarters and head through the halls, walking abreast. When it gets narrow, he takes the lead, and when the corridors widen, we resume our lax pace.
“The first battles have begun outside the eastern flank of Olhav,” Rirth explains to me like the general he is, the general he’s become. He raises a hand before I can express shock, adding, “Skirmishes, so far. Nothing centralized or too concerning. The Three Ministries’ army is growing antsy. They see the changing lines on the field, and know something is up with the commonblood vampires.”
“Do you still hold the same hate for them, Rirth, after seeing how Silverblood has the ability to change them?”
“Of course,” he grunts. “Once a bloodsucker, always a bloodsucker.”
I chuckle nervously. I’m not sure how this is “good news,” as Antones put it. To me, it feels like Aramastun is finally dropping the aforementioned Other Boot.
“It’s not the skirmishes concerning me. Not yet.” He furrows his brow, waving the torch in his hand with a brushstroke of orange across the darkness. I notice we’re walking deeper into the Firehold, past our territory, and deeper into the underground city labyrinth. “No, it’s something else I’ve noticed.”
“What is it, Rirth? I need to know.”
“My soldiers have noticed something on the eastern front. We’ve communicated with your allies in the various countryside castles—thank you for telling us which ones we can trust, by the way—and they’ve noticed the same thing we have: a swelling of inhabitants along the eastern ward in Olhav.”
My head lurches. “That’s . . . the Faith Ward.”
“Sure.” He shrugs. It’s all the same to him. Olhav is one big clusterfuck of rampant vampirism that must be quelled.
To me, it’s passing strange. Valenthia Yurlyth’s district has always been the least-talked-about, most clandestine and eerie territory on the Peaks. The Faith Ward is to Olhav what the Grimsons has historically been to Nuhav. Secretive, mysterious, dangerous.
My mates blowing up one of their towers to kill Cyprilis’ rapists certainly didn’t help our relations with the Sister of the Damned. As I understand it, that decrepit tower held some significance to their twisted faith.
“We’ll keep an eye on the Faith Ward, see what it means,” Rirth promises. He stops at a fork in the road. I become aware this is near the same place Skartovius and I, uh,apologizedto each other . . . with Lukain and Garroway joining shortly after our sweaty apologies. “For now,” the captain says, “I have another surprise.”
With my nerves jumbling all over again, fully aware this was the man who betrayed Vanison Shirin, I hear padded footsteps—
And look over to see Palacia exiting the same alcove Skar and I defiled.
