Slaying the Vampire Conqueror(81)

“Erekkus,” I said softly.

He heard me. He didn’t look at me.

He yanked the blade from the sand, twirled it, drove it back in. THWACK.

I approached him and sat beside him. Up close, his aura vibrated with such agony, it tore through me like broken glass. His expression was drawn and exhausted. One side of his face was burned—his flesh purple and slightly blistering. He had not bothered to avoid the sun.

“I don’t need platitudes.” He sounded hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in days.

“I didn’t bring any.”

THWACK, as he stabbed the blade into the sand again.

“I don’t want to talk,” he said.

My heart broke for him. I knew that feeling so well. His soul screamed for his daughter—sitting this close, I could practically see the girl’s face.

I had read in my studies that many vampire societies, especially in nobility, resented their children—that they often killed or mutilated their offspring, viewing them as competition for their power. In the beginning, I had assumed that Atrius’s people were the same as all the others. Now, I was ashamed of that assumption.

Of course they weren’t the same. Atrius’s people had fought every injustice. They had nowhere to go. They banded together and found comfort in each other instead. Just as I had, long ago.

And now, they grieved just as I did.

“I’m not asking you to talk,” I said.

THWACK. Erekkus whirled to me, teeth exposed in a pained snarl.

“Then what the hell do you want?”

I laid my hand over his—around the hilt of his blade.

“I’m asking you to act, Erekkus.”

Beneath my touch, his knuckles trembled.

“I’m asking you,” I murmured, “to help us kill the bastard who took your daughter away.”

His jaw shook. His throat bobbed.

“Can you do that?” I whispered.

For a long moment, Erekkus didn’t move.

And then he stood, yanking his weapon from the sand.

“Yes,” he said.





The dawn was damp and humid. I was exhausted. The last two nights had been spent aggressively preparing for our imminent movement into the Zadra Pass. I’d been so weak I hadn’t even had a moment to steal away, even during the daytime, when Atrius would pull me away into his tent to discuss strategy with me. By the time he was sleeping, usually I was, too.

But today, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. I’d slipped out after Atrius had finally fallen asleep, creeping from the tent as silently as I could manage. I left him a note in case he woke before I returned—Gone for a walk. Be back soon.

It felt almost deceptively mundane for the situation we were in, even if it had been true.

I walked far beyond the bounds of camp, out where the terrain grew so rocky it was difficult to navigate. The mists were thick today, and the air hot. By the time I made it to a calm patch of water—a little pool left behind when the tide went out—sweat plastered my clothing to my skin.

I knelt beside the tidepool, my hands hovering above the water, laying flat against the surface. The threads of the water bloomed to life beneath my touch. I drew in a deep breath and let myself feel them—them, and myself, and the connection we had to each other.

It was, in the midst of everything else... oddly calming. It had been a long time now since I had meditated in practice.

I reached through the water, and its threads, and its connections, deeper and deeper and deeper—all the way to the Salt Keep. Its presence was always so recognizable even over great distances. For fifteen years, it had been the north on my compass, the one stable thing in an ever-changing world.

I had one more chance to mend that gap. One chance to convince the Sightmother that Atrius could be an ally. Or if not, one chance to make sure she believed in my loyalty, at least long enough for us to get through the Zadra Pass.

The seconds passed, and then minutes, and no one responded. Not the Sightmother, not Asha, and not the other Sisters.

That was... unusual.

I reached for it again, this time through a different combination of threads. Perhaps they didn’t sense me.

Again, nothing.

I tried again, and again, before finally leaning back on my heels.

My heartbeat was a little too fast. Nausea simmered in my stomach.

It didn’t have to mean anything. Sometimes, reaching the Salt Keep didn’t work. The Sisters were busy, and the Sightmother was busier. It wasn’t unheard of that Sisters weren’t able to make contact just because no one happened to be waiting around at the Salt Keep for them.

But I had come too far to lie to myself. I had a bad feeling about this.

I touched the dagger at my side—the dagger that had not come anywhere near Atrius’s heart.

Tomorrow we marched for the Pythora King.

I just needed to get through that. Afterwards, the Arachessen were welcome to kill me for my disloyalty.

I stood and walked away, leaving the untouched pool behind me.





38





The pass reeked of danger. Everything about it felt like a place inhospitable to all life. The stones were foreboding and jagged, leaving barely enough room between them to cut through, even for the most surefooted travelers. The fog was so thick here that it blotted out the sun completely—so thick that I could feel it in each breath, and in the threads themselves, like all senses were coated in a thick, blurred layer. The slyviks weren’t visible, not with eyes nor even with the threads, but I could sense them distantly, like flitting, deadly shadows, impossible to pinpoint.