Well, what else was he going to tell me but the truth?
I fucking hated that I understood that, in some dark corner of myself. Raihn had made a bargain he had died trying to avoid fulfilling. Raihn had thousands of people relying on him. Raihn had his obligations tattooed onto his flesh.
But I’d been denying for too long that I had my own obligations seared into my skin, too. And I’d just listened to Raihn talk about killing the people who now relied on me. Talk of a new kingdom was one thing. But it was talk. Because I’d just watched him put on a performance to gain the favor of the very same people who abused him.
Fucking hypocrite.
We wanted to talk about hard decisions?
Raihn took another step closer. “Oraya, listen…”
But I jerked backwards. “I want to go back to my room.”
It was impossible to miss the disappointment in his eyes.
“Take me back or let me walk there myself,” I spat.
To his credit, he knew when there was no arguing with me. He didn’t say another word as he opened the door and walked silently a step behind me, all the way back to my room.
7
ORAYA
I wasn’t sure when I decided what I was going to do, only that by the time I made it back to my room, it was no longer a question. I waited until long after Raihn’s footsteps had faded down the hallway. I didn’t want to take any risks, especially not when Raihn had made it so clear just how embarrassingly well he could hear what went on inside my chambers.
And then, finally, I reached into my pocket and withdrew that little clump of glass, placing it on my bed. It looked just as unremarkable in here as it had on Vincent’s desk—like stacked shards, now stained with my blood.
I still didn’t understand what this was, or how it worked. But I mimicked what I’d done in the study, sliding the still-bleeding pad of my thumb over the smooth edge.
Just as it had before, the shards immediately scattered into a pile of broken glass. I touched them again, and it reassembled into the mirrored, shallow bowl.
Now that I was watching more closely, I noticed that the pieces, when assembled, still trembled a bit—in some areas, they didn’t seem to line up quite right. I sliced my thumb on the edge again and watched my blood swirl down the decorative whorls, pooling at the bottom of the basin.
I was prepared, this time, for the wave of—of Vincent that would follow. But it wasn’t any less painful to feel it, nor any less difficult to keep myself from shutting it out. I didn’t hear the sound of his voice or see his face, but I unmistakably felt his presence, like at any moment I’d turn around and he would be standing behind me. Deeper, more visceral certainty than any single sense could conjure.
The blood at the center sputtered and widened, shivering at the edges with the trembling shards of glass. The image in the blood seemed like a reflection from another location, distant and faint. Maybe it would have been easier to see in a pool of black blood. Or perhaps it was so faint because this device—whatever it was—was never intended to work for me. I was only half vampire, after all.
I squinted into the half-formed image. I could make out the faintest suggestion of a person’s face, as if leaning over the mirror from the opposite side.
“Jesmine?” I whispered.
“Highness?”
It was unmistakably Jesmine’s voice, just like I’d thought before, albeit very distant and fuzzy. I leaned closer, straining my ears.
“It is you—” she said. “Thought—from the—where are—”
“Slow down,” I said. “I can’t hear you.”
Just as I always told you, little serpent, Vincent whispered to me. You must learn how to be more patient. Wait, and feel it.
I drew in a sharp breath.
Goddess, his voice felt so close, I could practically feel his breath on my ear. The sudden wave of grief struck me before I could steel myself against it.
Jesmine’s image solidified, her voice growing stronger, even though I still had to strain to hear her.
“—you can use it,” she was saying. I could make out her expression now—confused, intrigued. Dirt—or blood—appeared to smear one of her cheeks, her hair pulled back in a frizzy knot, a bandage wrapped around one of her arms. A stark difference from the polished seductress I was so used to seeing slink around Vincent’s parties.
“Use it?” I asked.
“His mirror. You can use it.”
His.
I didn’t need to know the details of what this thing was, exactly, to know that it was powerful, old magic—just from the way it felt, so inextricably linked to Vincent’s soul. And if this was his, and it ran on his blood…