He was marking me on his skin.
“They’re a symbol for peace, you know,” Bartleby said, oblivious to the other meaning.
“Now you tell me,” Raphael said dryly.
Peace. “Will we have peace, Raphael?” I asked.
He peered up at me, still holding my hand. “We can have our own choices. That will have to be enough.”
Twenty minutes later, Raphael slid his shirt back on and paid the fae with glittering silver coins. We walked out of the tent, each freshly adorned with a stinging, permanent reminder of the night. No matter what happened in the future between us, I would remember Raphael whenever I looked at my wrist. Remember that he’d held me when I’d killed a man and promised I would not be a monster.
I hoped it wasn’t a mistake.
Before we left the square, I went back to the braziers. My wrist still stung from the tattoo, but somehow it felt easier to write than before. The survivor mark shimmered in the low light.
Permanent.
I am a powerless void.
The black flame devoured the parchment, hungry.
In Old Runyk, I wrote the new path I chose.
I am a vampire. I am a witch. I am a survivor.
I crumpled it to nothing, dropping it along the cobblestones as I returned to Raphael.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Samara
I’d expected the killingof an ambassador to warrant some fanfare, but no one asked any questions in the days that followed.
Not that I would have known if things were amiss in the court.
We were anywhere but the palace. Though Raphael didn’t seem worried about another attack, our movements became irregular, and he didn’t leave my side. It ensured there were no other assassination attempts—but it didn’t leave me much time to snoop. There were no other meetings with Lady Jaen, either with or without me.
After I drank his blood each morning, he escorted me through different parts of the city. Everywhere we went, at least two guards accompanied us. We saw art galleries, museums, and street vendors. The city had a rich history blended with thousands of new arrivals each day. But perhaps what struck me most was how easy it was to spend time with Raphael. When I marveled at the art, I found our tastes were rather similar. When I learned about different histories in the museum, Raphael shared his own experiences. With vendors, Raphael had a sharpeye for quality and gifted me several trinkets—under the guise of supporting the local economy.
I tucked each one in the bottom of my trunk, wondering if I’d have to abandon them in Damerel.
He continued my training too. There were more visits to donors, more compulsion practice. And while I’d once reluctantly gone along with it, each glance at my wrist reminded me I was a survivor. I was choosing to survive as a vampire.
And with it all, I sensed the fledgling bond ease. I could put over a thousand paces between us now. Not that Raphael liked my experiments, instead insisting on staying as close as possible.
The cruel irony was, I didn’t want to go too far either. As long as the bond kept me in place, I could drink his blood and see what the new world had to offer and not think about the fact that it would all come crumbling down.
And if anyone tried to kill me—he’d be there to stop them.
As long as he doesn’t know what you are.That voice followed me even while we explored Limanos.
There were still stray thoughts, dark and angry, but I got better at picking them out. Not dismissing them, but inspecting and letting them go.
And as we went, there were changes between Raphael and me as well. Laughter came more easily between us, mine a little high-pitched at his dry sarcasm, his with a low chuckle when I managed something witty.
Before I knew it, almost two weeks had passed, and the penultimate night of the festival had arrived.
As I fixed my hair in front of the mirror, brushing the white tresses into a low knot at the nape of my neck, and Raphael readied across the room, one thought echoed over and over in my mind.
