Page 85
Though there is far more to discover beyond the main square, we beeline to the town hall. Pale white light spills from the windows in bright patches, illuminating the gravel path leading straight toward two wooden doors.
Carver jerks his chin toward the building before falling in step behind Rory and me.
The door opens without pause, and voices pour from beyond another set of doors. Eivor’s distinct accent hits me first, then Risna’s easy laugh alongside another feminine chuckle. A baby cries, and Rory’s hand tightens on mine. She halts in the hallway just outside the double doors.
“Cress brought Lowella,” she says quietly, hands curling and uncurling into fists at her sides. She glances at the ring on her finger. “What if the enchantment isn’t enough? What if I hurt her?”
“My contact is renowned for her enchantments.” Carver claps a hand on Rory’s shoulder. “She is the only witch I would trust with my life and those of my kindred.”
My chest swells with appreciation for him, for his acceptance of Rory as one of our own.
“Give us a moment, would you, Carver?” I say, sensing Rory needs extra reassurance.
He nods once in understanding, squeezing Rory’s shoulder as he slips through the doors and shuts them quietly behind him.
I lead Rory to a small bench in front of a painted mural of a wolf howling at the moon. Classic.
“If you aren’t ready to go in there,” I begin, sitting beside her, “we’ll leave.”
She shakes her head. “There’s too much on the line to walk away now.”
I regard her with utter astonishment. She’s willing to face yet another of her fears in order to help me secure my seat on the council and reign as vampire supreme, and what have I done for her? Constantly put her in harm’s way, led her straight into danger, into situations where she isn’t comfortable.
She shouldn’t be here. She should be safe on the Shore of the Damned, not dealing with the political machinations of creatures after newly being made a godsdamned vampire.
“I can have my kindred escort you home,” I offer.
She flinches. “Do you not want me here?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, yes, of course I want you here. I just…” My sentence trails off, and I uncurl her hand to trace the lines on her palm as if I could read them. “I just want you to be wherever you’re the most happy, and that cannot possibly be in a room full of strangers bickering over creature politics.”
Her voice is quiet as she asks, “Did you glean that from my palm or are you making assumptions?”
“Risna is better at readings.” I run my finger along the little crescent moon scars dotting her skin. Permanent self-inflicted reminders of how much hurt she went through before she became a vampire. “Rory, about last night…”
“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” she says. She gestures to her waist, at the scars on her palm. “The self-harm… it’s something that began when I was little because I couldn’t release my emotions about anything in any other way. And when I became old enough to comprehend the only control I could wrest was over my own body, things…”
“Escalated,” I finish for her.
She nods. “Never worse than bruising. Or maybe a sprained rib.”
A primal urge to protect her from herself rocks through me. My nostrils flare. “How can I help you break this habit?”
“I’m not a poorly trained dog, Quill,” she says, not unkindly, as her gaze drifts toward the shut doors on the other side of the narrow hall. She frowns. “Now isn’t the time for this conversation, but I appreciate your concern.” She stands and laces her fingers through mine once more. “Let’s secure your votes and go home, shall we?”
The mindless chatter stops the moment we walk through the doors, hand-in-hand. Rory is a comfortable presence by my side, and though I would’ve prolonged this meeting for however long she needed, she is right.
Now is the time for politics. We have eternity to deal with everything else.
“Rory!” Cress exclaims, rushing toward us. “Are you all right? I can’t believe Tallis would interfere like this.”
“It’s typical of Mihal,” says Eliphas in that soft-spoken, wise voice of his. His light brown skin is stark against his favored ivory robes, the gold and silver charms dangling from his sleeves tinkling with every slight movement.
“I’m grateful both you and Alyvia waited for our arrival,” I say.
Alyvia climbs from her seat. I hadn’t realized how similar her and her niece are until seeing them stand side-by-side—the same dark skin and amber eyes, similar corkscrew curls, and that smile as she gazes upon the child bundled in her arms. It’s the same smile Cress flashes at Rory. One filled with love and fierce devotion. She could be Cress’s mother, the resemblance is that uncanny.
“It’s nice to see you again, Quill,” Alyvia says, swaying gently to and fro as if she’s trying to coax the infant to sleep.
