And yet, her words made me feel so deeply ashamed.
She placed her hands on my cheeks and tilted my head toward her, kissing my forehead.
“We will always help you walk the path back home.”
This should have been comforting. After all, what was a family but those who helped you find your way back to what was Right?
But today, it did not feel comforting.
The Sightmother withdrew, her attention slipping away. Her head cocked, and I suspected that she was being whispered to by Asha.
“I need to go,” she said. “The night is coming soon, anyway. You should be going.”
I nodded. I kept careful hold on my presence, pulling myself back to the image of stoic professionalism.
The Sightmother reached into the bag at her side and withdrew a sheathed dagger. She handed it to me without ceremony, like she was passing off a piece of bread at dinner. But when my hands closed around it, they went a little numb.
“It’s blessed,” she said. “One strike with that, close to the heart as you can get, and he’ll be dead.”
Dead.
I fought so, so hard to keep both my face and my presence calm.
“We’ve learned enough,” she said. “Let him get through Karisine and kill him whenever you can do so safely. Then return to the Salt Keep.”
She didn’t give me time to respond. She simply turned around and disappeared, stepping into the threads and leaving me there holding my blessed, cursed dagger, the order so much heavier than the blade.
28
I took the long walk back to the Thorn Palace, treasuring the lull of the dusky hours. When I returned, Atrius was waiting for me in my room.
I stopped short. He was standing by the window, peering through a slit in the curtains at the view beyond, where the sun was just disappearing beneath the rocky horizon.
The weight of the dagger at my hip felt like it doubled.
“I’m glad you let yourself in,” I said, flat with sarcasm.
Our usual banter. Nothing was different.
“It’s all my castle now.” He turned around to face me and said, “Your brother is awake.”
My heart skipped a beat. I had to stop myself from turning around and running to Naro’s side immediately.
“I’ve been thinking,” Atrius went on. “Of course, you will be traveling with us to Karisine. And if you wanted him to, I would allow him to come.”
My brows rose a little at that. Of course, Naro couldn’t travel—nor would I want him to. Coming with Atrius’s army was probably the most dangerous place he could be, no matter how much I might selfishly want to keep my brother close.
As if following the same thought process, Atrius went on, “But we both know that would be difficult in his current state. So. I’ve made arrangements.”
A tiny part of myself didn’t even want to hear this, because I knew it was going to be hard. And yet, I was also shamefully desperate for Atrius’s help.
I stepped closer.
“Arrangements?”
“Vampires don’t have experience with Pythora addiction. But we have drugs of our own that are just as powerful. It… has been a problem in the past. Among soldiers.” His hands were clasped behind his back. He crossed the room in slow, wandering steps, like he didn’t even intend to move. “Some Bloodborn healers have learned some treatment methods. They aren’t perfect. They might not work on humans. But—”
“Thank you.” The words pushed up my throat with the burst of wild hope in my chest. “That’s—just… thank you.”
He looked as uncomfortable being thanked as I was thanking him. We were close now, both in the center of the room. His eyes traced my face.
“I can’t make promises,” he murmured.
He said it like an apology.
“Even if you could,” I replied, “I wouldn’t believe them.”
I was grateful for his honesty. For his imperfect effort. No one who had survived the lives we had could deny the value of that. Most never try at all.
The dagger strapped to my thigh now felt like a vice, slowly tightening.
“My people have learned to fight for the impossible,” he said. “We wouldn’t survive otherwise.”
The words resonated more than I wished they did.
“Thank you,” I said again, and Atrius left me alone without another word.
Atrius was right. Naro was awake. He looked like a living corpse, but he was awake.
Still, he didn’t seem that interested in talking. He gazed out the window as I sat beside his bed, barely responding to my greeting or questions—How are you? Are you feeling better? Do you need anything?