“You killed him,” he snarled. “Y-you k-killed him. You and the vampire, Vivi—you killed him!”
“Yes,” I snapped. “Tarkan is dead and you’re free now. I know you had to do what you had to for survival. I don’t—” I stumbled over the words, involuntarily. “I don’t blame you for that. It isn’t your fault—”
“You killed him!” Naro roared, and tried to fling himself out of the bed, only to go crashing to the floor.
Weaver, no.
My heart was beating fast, my throat tight. I no longer felt the sensation of tears, but my nose and throat prickled.
Footsteps approached, probably alerted by the noise. I knelt beside my brother and, with shaky hands, pressed my fingers to his temple, sending him the strongest sedation I could.
He thrashed for a few seconds longer, then went limp.
Atrius stood in the doorway. I felt him there, but I ignored him. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I couldn’t open my mouth to speak, anyway. It wouldn’t be words that came out.
Naro was larger than me, but skinny. It was awkward, not difficult, to lift him back into the bed.
Still, Atrius took a few steps forward, moving to help while avoiding the rays of sunshine.
“I’ve got it,” I choked out.
Naro settled back into bed. I pulled the covers up around him. Even asleep, the tremors racked his hands and arms, even the small muscles of his face.
Pythoraseed. A horrible drug. It was worse to see the way it had consumed and destroyed his threads than it was to see it in his body alone.
Seconds ticked by as I stood beside him. Atrius watched silently.
Then, he said, “Come.”
“I’ll stay here.”
“Staring at him won’t do anything.”
There was something in his voice, something tender and a little painful, that made Erekkus’s words float through my mind:
We know what this feels like.
“I’d like to talk to you,” he said. “Business.”
I swallowed thickly. Turned. “Fine.”
26
Atrius led me to his bedchamber. Unlike in Alka, he didn’t take the warlord’s room this time—mostly because Tarkan’s was covered in blood and guts. Instead, he’d chosen a more private, smaller apartment on the top floor of the castle. It was separate from the rooms of his closest advisors and guards. A good example of his arrogance—he was totally unconcerned by potential threats.
When I first met him, I would’ve seen this as a weakness, nothing more than hubris. Now… I had to admit, it seemed like it would take a truly incredible assassin to end Atrius.
This thought floated through my mind before I remembered that I was supposed to be this assassin.
The heavy curtains were drawn in Atrius’s room, leaving the chamber dim, lit only by a fire and several lanterns.
After Naro’s explosively emotional presence, Atrius’s wall seemed even thicker than ever.
“You need healing,” I said. “I’m sorry, I—”
But Atrius just shook his head. He gestured to one of the armchairs by the fire, and I sat.
He went to the table and retrieved a ceramic cup. He held it out to me, and when I just stared at it, he took my wrist, lifted it, and pressed the warm mug into my hands.
“Tea,” he said. “Apparently expensive. Tarkan liked it.”
He didn’t let go of the cup, his hands over mine.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“I’m tired.”
He did not believe me. But he let me go and took a seat on the other armchair, anyway.
For a very long, very awkward moment, neither of us spoke.
“Drink it,” he said. “You’ve barely eaten or drank in two days.”
I laughed flatly. “You’re keeping track.”
“It’s impossible not to notice everything, with you.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected from him. But it was not that.
I took a sip of the tea because I didn’t know what else to do. It was a little bitter and a little sweet, and just the right amount of hot.
It was, I had to admit, nice.
“A brother,” Atrius said. “Yes?”
Weaver, how did he know?
“He looks like you,” he said, answering my unasked question. “And he called you that name. Vivi.”
The corner of my mouth twitched with a sad smile. Odd to hear Atrius say it, his accent rolling over those two sharp syllables.
“That was my name before the Arachessen,” I said. “Long time ago.”