Slaying the Vampire Conqueror(82)

I could understand why this place had claimed so many lives. The journey through the pass could take a human fourteen days, if they were very, very quick. But no one was quick, because attempting to navigate the maze of the pass with eyes alone was a foolish, losing proposition.

Atrius, arrogant as he was, figured we could make the trip in seven days.

In theory, maybe he was right. Vampires were hardier than humans. Their eyesight was far better in the dark. They healed faster, didn’t need as much food to survive. And, Atrius pointed out smugly, they had me—our key to making it through the pass without getting lost.

I wanted to believe him. Needed to believe him. Time loomed over me like the shadows of the slyviks I knew were waiting for us ahead. How long would it take for the Arachessen to kill me?

Not long. They were very efficient.

Seven days, I figured, could work.

Atrius and I stood at the front of his army. Not many of his warriors would make the journey with us—he had lost so many, and more still needed to stay behind to care for the wounded. It seemed laughable to think that this army of one hundred men could be the downfall of the Pythora King.

But then again, these weren’t men.

Still, as I stood beside Atrius at the narrow gap between these jagged rocks, feeling my own mortality’s breath at the back of my neck, I found myself with a strange sensation: raw, genuine fear.

Time, Atrius had told me once, the first time I healed him. I just need time.

I understood that now.

That morning, before we left, I had sat down to compose what I knew would likely be my final letter to Naro. All of them had been stilted and awkward, fuller of the things I didn’t say than the things I did. Mundane questions that didn’t matter—How are you feeling? How are they treating you? How is the weather in Vasai?

He never responded, of course.

This morning, I sat before that blank paper for a long time without writing. It seemed disingenuous to give him my usual forced small talk, even if it was the most comfortable option.

I had given up the comfortable option.

I would likely die soon. He would likely die soon. Both of us were being slowly strangled by those who had taken all our faith. We had no one to blame but ourselves.

What the hell were we pretending for, anymore?

So this time, I wrote what I really meant.

Naro—

I love you.

I’m sorry for the ways I failed you.

I forgive you for the ways you failed me.

Maybe in the next life, it can be different. But if not, what I feel in this one remains the same.

I love you.

Vivi.





It was a short letter. Just a few sentences. And yet, what else was there to say but that? What else could I offer him?

Now, at the entrance to the pass, my death looming over me, I thought of that question again. It was all I had, but it still didn’t feel like enough.

I could feel Atrius staring at me. He was as nervous as I was, but his presence still comforted me. I swallowed past a thick lump in my throat, heavy with fear and guilt.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

His voice was abrupt, and yet gentle.

He saw too much.

“Nothing,” I said, and started to walk forward, but he caught my arm.

“What is it?”

I paused, fighting that same sensation I’d felt when I wrote Naro’s letter earlier today—like Atrius’s question was another blank page in front of me.

I turned back to him.

“I need you to promise me something,” I said.

A ripple of concern. His brow furrowed.

“Promise me that you keep going,” I said. “Even if you lose me. Promise me that your only goal remains the Pythora King.”

Silence. His concern grew stronger.

I reversed his grip, so I was now holding his hand, pulling him closer.

“Death is what happens when you stand still,” I said. “Don’t stand still. Not for anything.”

Finally, he lowered his chin in a nod.

A wave of relief fell over me. I turned back to the pass before us.

It felt, I supposed, exactly like what a path to the underworld should feel like.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

He wasn’t. I could sense that. But he still said, without a hint of uncertainty, “Yes,” because Atrius worked only in absolutes. I appreciated that about him, even though I knew it would be the very quality that would end me.

“Good,” I replied.

I was the one to take the first step, leading us into the mist.





I hated following the threads through rocks. They were so much more opaque than soil or water, with so little life running through them to cling to. These ones were among the worst—endless expanses of serrated death.

The gaps between them were so narrow that no more than two of us could walk shoulder-to-shoulder, and even that was tight. I led the group, the navigator pointing our way. Though the vampires had far better eyesight in the darkness than humans did, the dark wasn’t the problem here—the mist was. A human would be functionally blind here. The vampires could see what lay directly before them, but little more. Certainly not enough to work their way through the maze of stone alone.

That was my job.

I clung to the cliff walls, pressing my hands to the damp stone, threading my awareness through them. It took all my focus—I kept stumbling over the uneven terrain because I couldn’t keep track of our larger path while also seeing what lay directly in front of me. Atrius remained by my side, one hand keeping his sword at the ready, the other holding onto my arm, as if he was terrified of losing me.