“I do. I promise you I do.” The words were broken, ripped from my throat with my grief for the bond that would never be fulfilled.
“Mael has grown too powerful. There is no stopping him.”
The image of my maker flashed before my eyes. Seth with his unearthly pale skin and deep black hair. The child of Amayah with all her strength and power. And, perhaps, the one being in the entire world who could destroy my brother.
“Look at me.” I shook him, forcing those silver eyes to fix on me. His breathing came in ragged pants and the fingers around my wrists flexed in time with his heartbeat.
“No one is truly immortal. Even a god can be felled.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Louis had just fallen asleep, needing to be up before dawn to work at the docks, when a crash sounded from the kitchen.
It was a testament to how tired he was that he didn’t so much as stir. I scooted off the thin mattress and slipped on my shoes before tiptoeing to the door. My mother was sprawled in the middle of the front room, glass and liquid splattered around her. She groaned, rolling onto her side. Before she could cut herself, I rushed forward, wrapped my arms around her middle and helped her to stand.
“Adrienne?” she slurred. “Is that you, my jewel?” Tears slipped from her eyes as she touched my cheek, smearing dirt on my face.
I swallowed back the bile creeping up my throat. “Yes, Maman. Here, let’s get you cleaned up.”
I guided her to one of the pillows in front of the makeshift table before searching the empty cabinets for a cloth and running it under the tap. She sat rounded in on herself, looking more childlike than anything else. I knelt beside her, wiping the dirt from her hands.
“When did you arrive?”
My eyes burned but I blinked away the tears before going to work on her face. “This afternoon.”
“You look well.” Her now clean fingers traced the cuff of my chemise.
I nodded, keeping my face smooth. “Thank you.”
“My jewel,” she murmured, lids heavy. “Couldn’t…keep you in a case. Had—had to sell you to save us.”
Acid ate through my stomach. From what I understood, the debts had started out small: when she’d been a blood giver she’d liked to play cards with her clients. But unlike Liam, who bet in secrets, favors, and blood, she bet inoyista.A small debt became a larger one followed by a win that only convinced her she could make more. My lessons had been paid with winnings, only for collectors to call and immortals to break through our doors threatening what might happen if they didn’t get their investment back.
When I was eight, I’d spent a month living in a vampire’s house in Chynon, one of the cities neighboring Oylen, as collateral until my mother made enough to bring me home. I’d stayed in a windowless room in the basement of the house. Though they’d provided candles and food, it had been its own brand of torture. That was when I’d first begun to play music inside my mind, trying to find any semblance of comfort. And there had been no relief when I’d returned home, not when I spent every night struggling to sleep in fear it would happen again.
Ten years later, I was sent in my mother’s stead to feed the immortals who came calling to pay back her smaller debts until finally she decided the true money lay in the inner city.
“Maman…” I started. “Where did all the money go?”
She swung her head toward me. “Hm?”
“TheoyistaI’ve sent you, where did it go?”
Slowly, she sank down until her head rested on one of the other cushions. “Gonna…get it back, jewel. Promise.”
I’d known she’d probably wasted it all, but it didn’t stopthe tears from burning and the nausea from roiling. And as always, I would be the one to pay for it.
Lilith was too loud.
I rolled over in bed, slinging an arm over my ear to muffle the rustling of her getting ready. It must have been later than I usually slept. When I went to grab for another pillow, I froze. I wasn’t at home and Louis had left before dawn.
With a jerk, I bolted upright. My mother sat only inches away from the mattress, rifling through my valise. Dirt was smeared across her cheeks and forehead, probably from the pillows she’d slept on last night. The dress I’d brought to change into was piled on the floor beside her, along with the extra pair of shoes, traveling corset, and a quill.
“Maman, no,” I breathed, scrambling to tug the thin blanket off my legs.
In her hand was my gold hairpin. She eyed it the way a jeweler might. “This will bring in eight hundredoyistaat least,” she said, not a single word slurred.
My blood boiled. “And what of the thousands ofoyistaI have already sent?”
