It was a casual prod for information, and not one that I expected to go anywhere. But Erekkus’s presence immediately shifted, so abruptly that I stopped mid-movement, turning to him.
His back was to me as he tied up another tent roll, but I knew his hands had stopped moving.
I prodded his presence gently. Regret. Guilt. Sadness. But above all… shame. Deep, all-consuming shame. All of it clamped down, like a bandage over an old wound that never healed right.
“Yes,” he said curtly.
That wasn’t the whole answer.
I kept my voice light and casual. “Is he a good leader?”
Most of Erekkus’s discomfort melted away. “A great leader. We’re damned lucky to have him. Not often a soldier gets a commander who’s just as willing to walk over coals for you as the other way around. Especially not us.”
That was an interesting little addition.
“Especially not you?”
Another pause. He seemed suddenly very interested in tying down the tents.
Erekkus, I’d come to learn quickly, had a very big mouth. That would be useful to me, especially given that Atrius was about as transparent as a rock.
“Not sure if you know this,” Erekkus said, at last, “but the House of Blood is not very popular in Obitraes.”
I did know that, even with my scant knowledge of Obitraen society. The House of Blood was the cursed house, looked down upon by the Houses of Shadow and Night.
Of course, it would be suspicious for me to be so knowledgeable. So I just said, surprised, “Really? Why?”
“It’s a long, depressing story.” He waved his hand. “An old, boring, depressing story. Angry goddesses and entitled kings and vengeful curses. Your typical tragedy.”
“That doesn’t sound boring to me.”
“It’s boring if you live it.”
I made a mental note to come back to that one later. Maybe sometime I could make sure he had a bit too much to drink. He struck me as someone who would be a very chatty drunk.
I cast my attention again to Atrius, who now hauled materials into the back of a cart. He was… bigger than he’d seemed clothed. Well-built. Muscles worked over his back and shoulders as he lifted the crates into the cart, then winced and stretched.
Then again, if the way he had worked today was any indication of his usual habits, I guessed it should be no surprise that he looked like that.
“Didn’t realize blindfolded ladies could still be lecherous,” Erekkus said. “Still just as unsettling as all your other tricks. Maybe I’d feel differently if I was on the receiving end, though.”
“I’m not being lecherous,” I said, too quickly, turning back to the cart.
“No shame in it, Sister.”
“Don’t call me that,” I grumbled. “I’m not a Sister anymore.”
He barked a laugh. “So no more chastity vow, eh? That’s convenient.”
“I wasn’t being lecherous.”
I didn’t know why I said it again. I had nothing to prove.
Erekkus raised his hands. “Like I said, no shame in it. I’ve got no interest in the man, but even I’ll admit he’s a good-looking one. You wouldn’t be the first. Won’t be the last, either. Not that many people get lucky.”
I let him pull me up to the cart. When he dusted his hands off, he gave me a lopsided grin. “But hey, maybe you’ll be different. You’re just his type, actually.”
“His type?”
Erekkus leaned forward and gave me a conspiratorial smirk. He held out a finger with each word. “Beautiful. Mysterious. Dangerous. And an obvious, clear-as-the-fucking-moon mistake.”
11
Atrius’s horse was certainly Obitraen. The thing just radiated otherworldly power—a big, muscular draft horse, ghostly grey with dark, dappled legs marked with pink scars. It was one of the largest horses I’d ever seen, leaving Atrius towering over those who rode beside him. Unlike many of the other horses, who were clearly uneasy about their new vampire lords and needed to be constantly shushed and calmed, this one was stable as stone. Atrius constantly wove his fingers through the beast’s mane as he rode, eyes drawn out to the horizon, like he was staring a million miles away into the past or the future or both.
That little gesture—Atrius’s constant stroking of his horse’s mane—kept drawing my attention. It was… confusing. Most Glaean warriors were careful to never display weakness, ever, and such blatant affection for an animal would certainly count. I found it hard to reconcile this gesture with the man who had burst onto our shores with the vicious animosity of a wolf, ready to tear Glaea apart in his jaws.