It feels bad to skewer the poor beige fluff-ball in the back with my dagger. Much worse than punching Aelin in the face.
I gather a few berries that don’t look too poisonous, taking my winnings to the cave just as the others are rising.
“What’s this?” Skar asks when I kneel in the cave and slap the hare down on the ground. He’s sitting up, arms stretched wide. “Our temptress has become a huntress?”
I ignore him, feeling unwanted anger due to my hunger and also because Skartovius is trying to make nice. There’s also the situation with Palacia I can’t get out of my mind, which confounds me more than anything.
“We were just about to go looking for you,” Vallan says from a corner of the cave. He’s adjusting ripped cloth around the wounds of his shoulder and leg. Pala is leaning up against his bulky thigh, eyeing me curiously, and it makes me blush andturn to Garroway and Lukain—anything to avoid those bright turquoise-red eyes.
“I imagine you five are hungry,” I say, “and I know you need, uh, blood. But I wonder—”
“Yes, an animal’s blood will suffice when a human’s is not present, little honey badger,” Garroway says with a warm smile. He groans and sits up, drawing one of his many daggers to start skinning the rabbit. “Though a honey badger might have been better sized for our ravenous appetites.” He winks at me as he gets to work.
“I’ll start a fire,” Lukain announces.
Less than an hour later, after grimacing while watching my mates drain the poor beast dry, and then eating a few bites of smoky meat myself, we’re on our way. Skar wants to make sure we get to where we’re going with haste, and none of us disagree. The last thing we need is Aramastun’s army catching up to us.
We wind our way through the forest, which thins and eventually levels out to a rolling prairie atop the mountains. Past the prairie and a skinny valley, we reach a castle set in the shadow of the overhanging cliffs.
The moon is high when we arrive in the courtyard of the elegant estate—much more akin to Manor Marquin than the dilapidated fortress Tymon Aldion called home.
I hope this one doesn’t go as poorly as that one did. I’m tired of killing people. Supposed “allies.”
I recognize the tall, handsome vampire who welcomes us once a white-robed mute leads us into the four-story manse, past a foyer and antechamber, and into an elegant dining room.
The man shoots a wistful smile, his hands clasped in front of him. I know him as Demilord Godial, another fighter from Trithea Plaza. Once I see him, I know where we are and who I’ll be seeing soon.
“Lord Ashfen,” Godial says with a small bow, letting his dark hair flutter over his brow. “A pleasure to have you in my simple abode.”
Skartovius chuckles, looking around. “Been years since I’ve stepped foot in Manor Sirenchis, Demilord Godial. I am pleased to see you’ve kept it up nicely. Much nicer than Marquin, I daresay.”
“Nonsense, my lord. Yours is the jewel in the crown. Might I ask what brings you here, so far north on the mountain?”
“Betrayal, old friend,” Skar answers curtly. “Overlord Aramastun has seized my property and stripped me of my titles. I am no longer a nobleblood.”
Godial, excellent at playing diplomat, widens a smile. “More nonsense, Skartovius. Once a noble, always a noble. The haughty overlord may strip your rank, but he can’t strip who you are. You are welcome here, of course.” His eyes turn to me. “And you, Lady Sephania Lock. A pleasure. Helget will be pleased to see you, I’m sure. My bleak mistress will be downstairs any minute.”
For some reason, my blood runs cold at the thought of conversing with Helget again. While I could never call Aelin a friend from the Grimsons, the same can’t be said about Helget. I had been close with the plump, affable young woman.
Tragically another rape victim in the Firehold, Helg managed to get her justice when I presented her with her rapist at our final shadowgala, when Skar planned to introduce me as the “Queen of Manor Marquin” to his court.
Peltos, his name was. A former Grimson and eventual Diplomat and accomplice of Dimmon Plank—myrapist. I watched stonily as Helget clutched Peltos’ heart out of his chest and ate it.
So, it can be said, Helget is not quite asaffableas she once was. She’s not as round and soft, either, with her curves transformed into muscle and veins the last time I saw her. Itwas somewhat disappointing, that, because I always appreciated having another curvy woman by my side. Alas, all good things must end.
Godial lets us sit at his long table, where two other men are seated. They are both also strikingly handsome, and I think I recognize one from Skar’s galas, or perhaps other court affairs at Manor Marquin.
At the head of the table, Godial splays his hands out to either side to introduce the two men. The head chair remains empty until Helget arrives.
That’s right. Demilord Godial, likely the mate who turned Helget, refers to her as “bleak mistress,” as though she’s the leader of Sirenchis.I recall the other dark thing that transpired last I met these two, with Helget’sothermate, Ferar, meeting his end during our Trithea Plaza debacle.
Helget hadn’t seemed too broken up about Ferar’s death. Not as much as Godial, anyway. And my vampiress friend had said they would just have to find more mates to replace Ferar . . .
Which brings me to the two handsome bloodsuckers Godial gestures toward. They’re just as elegant and refined as the demilord himself. “Might I introduce Eldis and Darrien. If they look the same, that is because they are twins. Striking, are they not?” He speaks of them as if they’re trophies.
I’m taken aback, head lurching with a pout.Brothers, Helget? Seems you are getting quite kinky with your choice of mates. Can’t say I disparage you your choices though, True be true.
The two vampires blink at our group as we take our seats along the table. They remain quiet, unnervingly still, to which Godial says, “They are appropriately quiet men, which Helget and I both adore.”
