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“What is it that makes you sick, Mother?”
“I am dying. It is why I had Alaric summon you back.”
Had he heard her correctly? Surely not.
“A little every day, I suppose,” she added, and still, he could not bring himself to absorb the words. “But it has taken its toll over time.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “How can you be sure of this?”
“Because what your father takes from me is what I need to survive, and I can feel myself growing weaker and weaker by the day.”
“What does he take?”
“My lifeblood. He feeds on it.”
Her blood? What sick and disgusting creature would feed off another’s blood? He’d only ever seen animals, like bats, do such a thing. “You lay dying. And tell me, does he still run off to the woods for his little trysts?”
“Yes, I am certain of it.”
Rage tore at his muscles as he shot up from the bed and paced the room, back and forth. “What is so special about her? Why does he choose her over you! Why not take her blood!”
“She and I are not the same. And she does not threaten him, Jericho.”
“And you do? You can hardly lift your head, Mother.” It was then a thought struck him. “Earlier, did you say Alaric summoned me?”
“Yes.” She pushed herself higher up onto the pillow, her hand slipping with her weakness, and the baron lurched to lift her.
With caring and gentle hands, he assisted his mother to a sitting position, noting the frailty, the sharp protrusion of bones in her arms. “My father mentioned that he had not been made aware of my return. How can that be?”
“Alaric did not tell your father, on my command.”
“What?”
She flicked her fingers, urging him closer, and the baron bent down, turning his ear to her. “He is not loyal to your father. He is a spy.”
The boy nearly tumbled backward on hearing her words. He frowned, shaking his head as he straightened. “For whom?”
“Your father has made many enemies. Including those of the place where I come from. War is coming. And you will have to decide which side you intend to fight for.”
“Where is it that you come from, Mother?”
A knock at the door interrupted the two, and one of the maids entered the chambers, busying herself with cleaning the rags that had been left scattered on the floor.
“We will talk more, Son. Allow me some rest now.”
“Of course.” So many things had already come to light in the short time since the baron had arrived back. He needed to process them himself.
49
JERICHO
Istared up at the wall of the Obsidian Mountains, the summit of which disappeared into the dark clouds overhead. The moon sat high in the sky, shining down on a dark and ominous entrance just off in the distance. The mouth of a cave few were brave enough to breach.
It was at the foot of the Obsidian Mountains where I’d been reunited with my three hellhounds, nearly two decades after my banishment to Nightshade. They’d apparently crossed the portal when a manhunt had ensued, after one of the venators had spotted Fenrir and was quick to falsely claim he’d slain the beastly dog. Cicatrix had been the one to tell me of their location, as the raven had kept watch over them in the mortal realm, and I’d found them holed up in a cave here, feeding on scraps and carcasses, before bringing them back to Blackwater Cathedral.
Soreth groaned beside me, where I had lain him down on the gravelly bed of dirt. “Oh, heavens,” he said, turning over in time to expel a torrent of vomit.
I kept my attention on that entrance, wondering if it had been worth the change in direction from Ariochbury. “You passed out,” I lied.
