Another part of me hated him for it.
I shut those complicated thoughts away. “So you plan to what, cut me open and start dripping my blood all over Vincent’s possessions? As if I haven’t had vampires lusting after my blood my entire life. Creative.”
Septimus chuckled, the way one would laugh at the antics of a small child.
“Not all of Vincent’s possessions. Just some of them.”
“Your father had a lot of secrets,” Raihn said quietly, in a tone that meant so much more than the words alone.
My biting response died on my tongue, because even I couldn’t argue with the ugly truth of that. Too many secrets.
Then Septimus said something that I truly—down to my bones—was not expecting.
“You’re familiar, I assume, with the story of Alarus and Nyaxia?”
I—what?
“Of course I’m familiar,” I said. “Is there a soul in Obitraes who isn’t?”
What the fuck could that possibly have to do with anything?
“I don’t like to judge,” Septimus said, lifting one shoulder. “So you must know, then, that Alarus is the only major god ever to have been killed.”
“Get to the point, Septimus,” Raihn grumbled. But even as he scolded Septimus, he was watching me.
Septimus raised his hands, in a lazy fair enough.
“We’re vampires. We know death better than any other. And we all know that any being that dies leaves something behind. Bones. Blood. Magic. Offspring.” Septimus gave me a knowing half smile. “And that goes for gods, too. As what we leave behind holds some of our power, so, too, do a god’s remains.”
Despite myself, my curiosity was getting the better of me, just because what he was saying was so… bizarre. “You’re talking about finding Alarus’s… corpse?”
“I think Alarus is much more than a corpse by now. I think his remains, whatever they are, have spread throughout Obitraes.”
“What makes you think so?”
He smiled. “I found some. In the House of Blood.”
I didn’t even have words. My lips parted and nothing came out.
“Teeth,” he added, answering the question I was too shocked to ask. “Just a few.”
Teeth?
I choked out, “And what the fuck does one do with the teeth of the God of Death?”
“Not much, perhaps. But we could do a lot with his blood.”
“His blood.”
This was ridiculous.
“Yes,” Septimus said simply. “I suspect that some of it remains in the House of Night, and that it could be very, very useful if found. And I suspect your dear old father knew that, too.” He leaned across the table, long fingers intertwined, smirk slowly spreading into a grin. “I think he knew it, and he harnessed it, and he hid it. And now you get to find it for us.”
I stared at him for a long moment. It was so ludicrous I couldn’t even find words—this idea that Vincent, ever practical, ever logical, might have once searched for fucking god blood.
“Do you actually want me to justify this with an answer?” I said.
“The Nightborn King once had a bit of a reputation. An affinity for seers.” Septimus placed a long emphasis on the word seers. The meaning of it wasn’t lost on me.
Nyaxia’s magic offered little in the way of seering, though it was said some Shadowborn sorcerers could do something close. So when vampires were interested in magic beyond Nyaxia’s capabilities, they had to work with humans who followed other gods—usually Acaeja, the Goddess of the Unknown, and the only god of the White Pantheon to have a somewhat civil relationship with Nyaxia.
Some Obitraen kings through the years kept pet seers, whether of Acaeja or some other god. There were many useful things a king could do with such magic. But I couldn’t imagine Vincent being one of those rulers—a vampire so desperate for power that he’d throw coins at some gray magic wielder. He wasn’t especially religious, but he was also nothing if not loyal to Nyaxia and the power that she gave him.
“I still don’t understand what you’re asking me to—”
“We aren’t asking anything,” Septimus said. Downright politely, which made me even angrier. “If Vincent found this god blood, he no doubt would have safeguards in place to make sure that only he could use it. Which means that we need you.”
This was all fucking outlandish. I didn’t know why they bothered asking me.
I crossed my arms, lifting my chin. “I refuse.”