Page 56

“Lovely. I hate him already.”

I can’t help but smile at that. Many of us hate him, and after what he did last night… “I’ve decided to Challenge him.”

“Why?”

“There are many reasons.”

I swallow past the knot in my throat, past the memory of the vicious silver peeling my flesh from my back in strips. Under the candlelight and out of the darkness, she’ll see soon enough what he did to me, the collection of new scars adorning my back.

But what he did to me isn’t even the worst of it. As I drank that servant’s blood, I saw the truth. Mihal didn’t kill his servants so I couldn’t heal; he killed them so I wouldn’t know the assignment he gave me was a ruse, a trap to get me and my kindred to Adelphi so his spies could frame us for attacking the capital and discredit the Mors Soluta.

Mihal’s willingness to lie and corrupt others for his own gain sickens me.

“Quill.” She tugs me to an abrupt stop, and I wince. “What else has he done?”

“He forced Risna to whip me with silver.”

Her eyes widen.

“And in order to heal from silver poisoning, you must drink mortal blood,” I say. We resume our drifting through the hallway and into the bathing chamber adjoining our bedrooms. “But⁠—”

I cut myself off. How can I tell her I condemned her to a life of animal blood, of fearing drinking mortal blood?

“Eivor seemed reluctant to tell me about why I couldn’t drink mortal blood too,” she says. “He mentioned some sort of affliction.”

“Yes… My sire, Godrick, suffered from an affliction we call Bloodlust. It’s a rare and incredibly dangerous disease where a vampire enters a state of frenzy. They become unstable and unpredictable slaughtering anyone—creature and mortal alike—in their vicinity.” I lick my lips. “We didn’t know it ran in our bloodline until it was triggered on accident, and I’ve abstained from mortal blood ever since to protect myself from the chance of doing the same.”

“And because you sired me, I’m also at risk for the affliction?”

“You are,” I say. “I’m sorry, Rory.”

She squeezes my hand as I pull her through the obsidian doors to the bathing chamber. “Don’t be. You saved my life. If not being able to consume mortal blood is the price I pay for forever, then I’ll pay it gladly.”

The echo of my long-gone heartbeat rattles in my ears at her kindness, her understanding.

She continues. “Does Mihal know about the affliction?”

“Yes.”

“He whipped you with silver knowing you’d have to drink mortal blood or… what? Die?”

“Precisely.”

“Bastard.” Her voice echoes through the tepidarium. “I’ll kill him my fucking self.”

“Hopefully, that won’t be necessary, tiny monster.” I play with a lock of her dark hair with my free hand. “All I need is the backing of at least four of the Seven—the council who lords over the Wyldelands—to formally declare a Challenge. My meeting earlier with my stepmother, Nerissa, the siren supreme, was to see if she’d back me.”

Her eyes are fever bright. “Did she agree?”

“It’s… complicated.”

Nerissa had been adamant she’d consider backing me, but I couldn’t unsee the fear in her eyes. It held her tightly in its grip as clear as a sunny day over the ocean—she doesn’t want to lose me the way she lost Godrick.

“Let us leave all this talk of supernatural politics aside.” I lead her to the edge of the baths. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m… adjusting,” she says finally as she pushes up on her toes to steal a kiss.

Only, I’m not going to let her get away that easily.