Once, not long ago, I would have been embarrassed to have my nighttime activities so blatantly named. Not anymore. I wasn’t ashamed of what I’d done.
“There aren’t too many of us, but we have enough,” she went on. “We network across cities throughout the House of Night. Don’t have a presence everywhere, yet, but we’re expanding every day. Organizing. Teaching humans how to protect themselves. The thing is, our work has gotten a lot easier these last few months.”
Her eyes slipped to Raihn, full of reluctant admiration, though clearly much warier of him than she was of me.
“I’ve come to thank you,” she said, “for prioritizing the safety of your human citizens.”
Raihn kept his face neutral. But maybe I was the only one who saw his tell—the little bob of his throat.
“I was human once,” he said. “A part of me always will be. Just seemed like the fair thing to do.”
“Past kings didn’t agree.”
“I don’t agree with much about past kings.”
A ghost of a smile, like Tamyra liked hearing this. She turned back to me.
“I’ve come to make an offer to you, King Raihn, Queen Oraya, from one human to another.”
Queen Oraya. Two words that left me slightly dizzy.
I didn’t show it.
“If you can guarantee that you will continue to protect the safety of your human population during your reigns,” she said, “then I can guarantee we’ll offer whatever forces we have into helping you keep that reign.”
My brows lurched before I could stop them.
“Like I said, we don’t have many,” she went on, “A few hundred, among the cities close enough to offer up troops in time for your march. My soldiers probably aren’t as strong as the vampire warriors you’re accustomed to. But we’re well trained, and we’re loyal as hell, and we know how to fight. You’ll be glad you have us.”
And then she just stared at us, expectant.
I could feel Raihn’s eyes on me too, as if to say, Go on, princess. This one’s yours.
“Thank you,” I said. “We would be honored to have your men fighting beside us.”
No flowery words. No performances. Just the truth.
I extended my hand.
Tamyra stared at it for a moment, blinking in confusion—which made me realize that probably, most queens didn’t go around accepting oaths of loyalty with a handshake.
But then she grasped my hand firmly, a slow smile spreading over her lips.
“Then I won’t waste time,” she said. “I’ll gather my soldiers and send word to the others. We move at your command.”
I released her hand, she bowed once more, and left. Once she was gone, Jace approached, carrying a canvas sack.
“You’ll need a weapon, I figured,” he said. “But I can’t salvage this, I’m afraid.”
He dumped the bag out on the table with a clatter, and my chest clenched.
The Taker of Hearts.
It was in pieces. My father’s sword had been decimated, reduced to nothing but faintly glowing, red shards. Even the hand guard was hopelessly warped.
“Jace and I can make magic-touched weapons together,” Alya said, joining us beside the table. “We might have been able to repair this one, if more of it was intact. But…”
She didn’t have to say anything more. If the debris on the table was all that remained of it, then more than half the blade was missing.
I picked up one of the shards, pressing it to my palm. The magic thrummed against my skin, calling to my blood—Vincent’s presence near, as if his ghost loomed over the corpse of his prized weapon.
Another piece of him gone.
I had so wanted to preserve this weapon—to be worthy of wielding it. When I’d finally managed it, I felt like I’d achieved something he’d always held just out of my grasp, even if I had to do it in his death.
Yes, the sword was powerful. But was that really why it had meant so much to me?
Or was it just another way of chasing the approval of a dead man who couldn’t give it to me?
I didn’t even like wielding rapiers. Never had.
“The magic in it is strong,” Alya said. “It would be a shame to waste it. I couldn’t recreate it from scratch, but we may be able to use the pieces—”
“Could you forge them into something else?” I asked.
They exchanged a glance. “It’d be tough,” Jace said. “But I’ve done harder.”
I opened my palm and let the shard fall to the table with a metallic plink. Vincent’s ghost stepped back into the shadows.